


Us

by Pangea



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Abuse all the XMFC cliches!, Alternate Universe - Canon, Brotherhood of Mutants, Dark!Charles, Genosha, I do what I want, It's not a fix-it if I'm breaking them more, M/M, Mess up all the timelines!, Psychological Trauma, Torture, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-18
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-31 09:46:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 75,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pangea/pseuds/Pangea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Charles,” Erik says, and if his voice hits a pleading note then who can really blame him, “Charles, it’s me.”</p><p>It takes several longer moments before Charles musters up the strength to answer, breath stuttering horribly as he tries to breathe.  He’s shaking, entire body trembling.</p><p>“Erik,” Charles says, his voice cracking, “Erik, I want to die.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

X

 

 

“Charles,” Erik says, and if his voice hits a pleading note then who can really blame him, “Charles, it’s me.”

It takes several longer moments before Charles musters up the strength to answer, breath stuttering horribly as he tries to breathe.  He’s shaking, entire body trembling.

“Erik,” Charles says, his voice cracking, “Erik, I want to die.”

 

 

X

 

 

They come in the night, when the mansion is dark and cold while long rolls of rumbling thunder make the ground floor tremble between flashes of lightning.

Kitty Pryde is one of the few students still awake, phasing casually through walls on her way to the kitchen.  She’d already made one attempt of phasing directly from the second floor to the first floor as a sort of shortcut, but it’d certainly left something to be desired—she’d ended up with one arm in a sling, now pressed tightly to her side.  The mansion ceilings turned out to be _high_.

She’s only been here for a month, but she already plans to stay.  Where else would she be able to phase so casually through the walls and not get called a freak?  Or worse.

At first the kitchen seems empty when she pokes her head out of the wall to look, but a flash of lightning illuminates the room for a brief second, revealing two figures seated at the table in the dark, postures relaxed.  Kitty frowns, even as she blinks back the bright spots left in her eyes from the sudden flash.  Who sits around late at night in a thunderstorm in the dark?  The power can’t be out; her reading lamp back in her room was working just fine.

“Who knows.”  She recognizes the first instantly.  Even Sean Cassidy’s voice is relaxed, and it must be him who’s leaned back on two legs of his chair.  Kitty likes Sean.  He’s the one who brought her to the mansion.  “He’s usually more accurate than ‘sometime later this week’ but it’s that time of year, you know?  He’s always a little off around now.”

His companion snorts.  “He’s always a little off _period_.”  Kitty recognizes the voice of Alex Summers.  She doesn’t know him very well.  She thinks he’s a little intimidating.

“Not his fault.”  For once, Sean’s voice is quiet and serious.  Kitty has a hard time reconciling this Sean with the laughing, easy-going Sean she knows better.

“I know.”  Another flash of lightning lights up the kitchen, and Kitty sees Alex’s nod.

“Do you ever—”  Sean is hesitant.  Kitty listens intently as his voice nearly drops below the sound of the rain.  “Do you ever miss how he used to be?”

There is a brief silence before Alex answers.  “Yes.  Not nearly as much as Magneto does, though.”

Kitty nearly forgets herself, questions she wants to ask springing up at once.  She’s only ever seen Magneto once, and it was from a distance on her very first day at the mansion.  Sean told her once that Magneto visits the mansion often, but she remains unconvinced— _often_ usually doesn’t mean _once a month_.

Sean laughs, the sound nearly swallowed by thunder.  “Obviously not.”

“We’re going to kill that bastard.”  Alex says, low and angry.  “We’re going to make him wish he’d never been born.”

“Okay, Magneto.” Sean says dryly.  “Erik must be so proud you’ve adopted his ideals.”

“Shut up.”  Alex shoots back, but at least he doesn’t sound so angry anymore.  “You’ve _adopted_ them too.”

“Of course.”  Sean says, casually neutral.  But there’s an undertone of steel when he adds, “We all have.”

Kitty rocks back on her heels for a moment, withdrawing her head into the wall.  She has no idea what they’re talking about.  Who’s Erik?  And who does he want to kill?  She’s been here long enough to know that there are a great many secrets in the mansion, but until now she’s assumed that secrets are necessary for mutants hiding together from the world at large.  But this is…

This is something else.

She sticks her head back into the kitchen to listen for more, only to be blinded—someone’s turned the lights on.

“—sitting in the dark?”  Angel stands in the actual doorway of the kitchen, arms folded.  She must be the one who turned on the lights.  “There’s a light switch for a reason.”

“Maybe we like the dark.” Alex snaps.

“What are you doing up so late, Kitty?” Sean asks when he catches sight of her, friendly.  He’s still leaned back in his chair, grinning inanely.  “Thunderstorm too loud?”

“Yes.”  Kitty steps out of the wall with a shrug.  It’s the truth, at least.

“I’m surprised there aren’t more _chamaquitos_ out of bed.”  Angel says.   “It’s nasty outside.”  Kitty admires Angel, and thinks her wings are the prettiest mutation in the house.  Unlike Sean and Alex, Angel doesn’t really help with teaching, though, so Kitty’s not really sure what her job at the mansion is.

“You want me to make you something?” Sean offers, leaning forward so that his chair rights itself with a scrape.  “I make a mean sandwich.”

“She doesn’t have the munchies, Sean.” Alex says with a snort.  He glares out the window, refusing to look at Angel even when she laughs.

“You never know, man.”  Sean raises his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

“You cats take it easy.”  Angel gives Kitty a wink before leaving, slipping back down the hallway towards the staircase.

“A sandwich sounds good.” Kitty pipes up, earning herself a grin from Sean.

“Cool.  I’ll have one too.”  He gets up, shuffling over to the refrigerator.  “Nothing like a midnight snack during a—”

The next roll of thunder cuts him off, but it isn’t loud enough to cover the sound of gunfire before the window to the kitchen shatters, and very suddenly it is just as nasty inside as it is outside.

 

 

X

 

 

Logan doesn’t mind the rain.  Frankly, he’s been in worse.

It’s because he doesn’t mind the rain that he’s out in the grounds of the mansion— _grounds_ of the _mansion_ ; what the _fuck_ , Xavier—chewing on a cigar stub when he sees the soldiers.

Too late he realizes that they’ve probably surrounded the place, their scent masked from him because of the rain.  With a growl he bounds to his feet, growl turning into a snarl as his claws come out and he slams into the first soldier, adamantium sliding easily through thick uniform wool and eliciting a scream.

Bullets sink into him but he brushes them off as mere beestings, already slicing through the next man in his path.  The fuckers have helmets on, and he’s ready to bet they’re of the same material of Lehnsherr’s getup, because that would explain how close they’ve been allowed to come to the mansion.

Strong as he is, he’s not enough to keep an entire squad of men at bay.  He takes down two more men at once, slicing right through their throats, but four men get past him, sprinting for the mansion.  Lightning flashes and Logan catches a nightmarish glimpse of the soldiers pouring in from all directions, and some of them have already made it into the house.

Logan lets out a howl of fury, shaking the blood off his claws as he barrels forward.  A loud shriek echoes out into the storm followed by a blast of red light, and Logan smiles grimly—at least Banshee and Havok are on top of things.

Still, three versus fifty aren’t good odds.  Most of the kids in the mansion aren’t any older than twelve, and they won’t be able to fight.  He catches one man on the steps of the mansion, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and spinning him around, gutting him before he can so much as raise his gun.  He drops with a gurgle and Logan steps past him, angry.

They shouldn’t have to fight.

The entrance hall of the mansion is a mess, bullet holes peppering the walls and several bodies peppering the floor.  A quick glances tells Logan that all of the bodies belonged to soldiers—good.  No mutant casualties here.  It must have been Angel who’d been the welcoming committee here, because several patches of carpet are still smoking, acid sizzling.

Gunshots are echoing from deeper within the mansion, and Logan can hear the sounds of combat.  His instincts tell him to run towards the sounds but he hesitates at the foot of the stairs—what of the younger mutants?  Someone has to look out for them.

Logan snorts.  Staying here is turning him soft.

He’s saved from further deliberation with a _poof_ , and the telltale smell of sulfur.

Logan smirks.  “Took you long enough, bub.”

“On the contrary,” Magneto says, “I’m right on time.”

 

 

X

 

 

Sean had yelled for her to run and warn the others so Kitty sprints, ducking through walls and paintings and expensive antiques on her way through the mansion.  The main staircase had already been overrun with soldiers— _soldiers_ , her thoughts babble frantically, _we’re under attack_ —but Angel had been holding them, pretty face contorted into a sneer as she spat globules of burning acid at the intruders.

Kitty had been forced to double back, and now she runs for the stairwell she knows is located in the eastern wing, newly discovered only a week ago when she’d been desperately looking for a bathroom.  The stairwell should be clear, she reasons, and then she can get up to the second floor to warn the others, if the sound of gunfire below hasn’t clued them in already.

She runs straight through the door and clambers up the stairs, panting.  The coast appears to be clear in the second floor hallway when she gets there, and several heads are poking out of doorways, blinking in confusion.

“We’re under attack!” Kitty cries as soon as she sees Ororo.  Ororo isn’t much older than Kitty herself but she’s been at the mansion longer and must have some idea of what to do.  “There are soldiers downstairs and we’re under attack and—”

“Come on, everyone.”  Ororo says, mostly calm but still shaky.  “We have to hide.  The older kids will protect us.”

“Where’s Alex?” Scott demands, red goggles glinting when lightning flashes again.

“Helping to protect us.” Ororo says, turning to usher him back.  “No, Suzy, don’t cry, we’ll be alright.  Let’s all head this way, okay?  We can hide on the other side of the mansion.”

Kitty helps her heard the kids down the hall, which really only takes a matter of seconds.  Only the youngest of them are hardest to convince—mostly too scared to move and require a little bit of gentle prompting—but everyone else keeps orderly, setting off under Ororo’s direction as if she were a senior member like Sean or Alex.

Sean or Alex.  Kitty shivers.  She hopes they’re okay.  None of the soldiers seem to have made it upstairs, but it can only be a matter of time, can’t it?  The sounds of gunfire below haven’t let up, and the mansion shakes with more than just thunder.

“Kitty, I’m going to take everyone ahead.” Ororo calls, snapping her out of it.  “John’s missing, will you be alright to look for him?”

_Idiot probably thinks he’s a hero and has gone looking for trouble_ , Kitty thinks wildly, _this isn’t the time for that_.  “I’ll find him.” She promises.  With her powers, she’ll be fastest at looking for him.

“Good luck.”  Ororo says, and then she and the rest of the kids turn the corner and are gone from sight.

Kitty runs back towards the stairwell she came from, heart pounding.  Pyro’s such a showoff, he’s going to get himself killed—

She skids to a halt when she phases through the door, throwing up a hand to cover her nose and mouth to muffle any sounds.  There are footsteps in the stairwell, coming from above her.  Someone’s climbing the stairs.

Hardly daring to breathe, Kitty starts after them slowly, following them up.  As far as she can tell, it’s only one person she’s following but she has no idea if they’re mutant or soldier.  For all the month that she’s been here, Kitty’s never been up to the third floor of the mansion before, so when she hears the door of the stairwell ease open and shut, she stops and takes a deep breath before following.

Very slowly, she phases through the door to avoid making any noise.  The third floor unsurprisingly looks a lot like the other two floors of the mansion.  It is dark and silent, save for the occasional flash of lightning; no sounds from the battle two floors down carry up here.  Her breath catches when her gaze finds the back of a soldier, already several feet down the hall, creeping forward cautiously.  He’s alone, and for all his cautious movement, Kitty can’t shake the feeling that he knows exactly where he’s going.

She should go back downstairs.  She should go back downstairs and catch up with Ororo and the others to hide, John or no John.  Better yet, she should go back downstairs and find Sean, Alex, Angel, _someone_ , and tell them that there’s one more soldier loose in the house.  But Kitty stays, stepping forward onto the thick carpet to tail the soldier, whose attention is focused solely on the dark hallway ahead of him.

As far as Kitty knows, the third floor is empty.  No one lives up here, and there can’t be anything more valuable than any of the other paintings or antiques scattered throughout the rest of the mansion.  _What are you looking for?_ She wonders as they continue slowly down the hall, bypassing several doors.  _Why did you come up here alone?_

Lightning flashes, flooding the dark hallway with light, and Kitty is forced to duck behind a large vase as the soldier turns, hunkering down and holding her breath.  Thunder makes the windowpanes rattle softly for a moment, and Kitty has a second of panic—she won’t be able to hear the soldier’s footsteps until it’s too late.

Her panic dissipates when she hears a door down the hall creak open, and she allows herself a small, shaky sigh of relief.  She’d been almost certain that he’d caught a glimpse of her.  Pushing herself back up to her feet, Kitty straightens and moves towards the open doorway the soldier has gone through and left ajar.

Kitty stops in the doorway.

A small fire crackles softly from the fireplace, casting a dim glow on the— _study_ ; it’s a study, she realizes quite abruptly, even though she’s fairly certain she’s never set foot in a study before.  Bookcases line the walls filled to the top with thick books, and every piece of furniture is solid and heavy and gives off the impression of old money elegance.

She’s not sure how she knows that, either.

The soldier has stopped in the center of the room, gun raised and pointed towards the couch situated in front of the fireplace.  Kitty frowns.

“—found you at last,” the soldier is saying, breathless with triumph, “and you can’t get in my head, not while I’m wearing this.”

Lightning flashes, illuminating the room far more than the flickering flames of the fire, and Kitty realizes that someone is sitting on the couch, facing the fire with his back to the soldier.  As the accompanying thunder rumbles, he lifts a glass tumbler and takes a small drink.

“I’d say you have me quite at your mercy.”  He has an accent.  British.

“Yes.”  The soldier takes a step forward, keeping his weapon aimed at the back of the man’s head.  “My superiors will be happy to see you, mutant scum.”

A hand settles on Kitty’s shoulder and she jumps, looking up and back to see who has snuck up behind her so soundlessly, fearing another soldier—

Magneto gives her a slow smile from beneath the edges of his own helmet, inclining his head slightly towards the center of the room, and Kitty turns to watch as the soldier’s helmet lifts right off his head, hovering in midair.  The soldier freezes, mid-reach.

“Thank you, darling.”  The man on the couch turns his head, and Kitty catches a flash of blue, blue eyes in the lightning.

“Of course, Charles.”  Magneto keeps his hand on Kitty’s shoulder.  The weight is warm and comforting.

Thunder rumbles, and the man begins to scream.  Kitty watches, eyes wide, as he contorts, reaching up to grab at his head, dropping to his knees and curling in on himself as his screams go on and on, wordless and agonized, rising in pitch and Kitty can’t take it anymore—

“That’s enough, Charles.”  As soon as Magneto speaks, the screams cut off and the soldier collapses, motionless.  “Who sent them?”

“You know who sent them.”  Charles lifts his gaze from the soldier on the floor, and Kitty feels pinned in place like a bug as he levels her with a stare, feeling as if his gaze cuts right through her.  Then his eyes move upwards to Magneto, and she feels like she can breathe again.  “Take it off, Erik.”

Kitty looks up in surprise.  Magneto doesn’t look back, instead maintaining eye contact with Charles as he lifts his free hand and slides the helmet off his head, revealing short, auburn hair.  Across the room Charles sighs, closing his terrible blue eyes for a moment.

“You know what this means, Charles.”  Magneto says, and Kitty knows enough about mutant powers to recognize that he’s only speaking aloud for her benefit.  “It’s time.”

Kitty feels inexplicably calm.  Someone was just murdered right in front of her, tortured before her very eyes, but she feels unwaveringly safe between these two men as she stares blankly at the body—the _human_ —on the floor.  They’re on her side.  In a world that won’t accept her based only on the fact that she can do something no one else can, they _will_ accept her just for that very same reason.  She’s not alone.

The corners of Charles’ mouth quirk upward in a smile, and he opens his eyes again, blue and depthless with vast understanding.  “Yes.  It’s time.”  Lightning flashes outside, but Kitty thinks that there’s lightning in his eyes.  “You ready for this?”

Erik smirks.  “Let’s find out."


	2. Good luck, darling—you'll need it

Charles blinks blearily through the drugs, his head spinning as he tries to focus on the blurry form standing over him.  He tries to sit up, but he’s stopped by the metal— _metal_ , and here he almost laughs, on the edge of hysteria—cuffs binding him down to the table.

“So.  Erik’s telepath.”  Sebastian Shaw’s voice, easily discernible from so many of Erik’s memories and nightmares, floats down from above.  “I’m so pleased to meet you.”

“Fuck you.”  Charles bites out hoarsely.  His throat still hurts.  Something is wrong with his telepathy.  He can’t hear Shaw—he can’t hear anyone, for that matter, and he feels his heart rate increase as he begins to panic, his breath coming out in short gasps.  _No no no, calm down, can’t panic, not here, think of something think of something thinkofsomething—_

X

 

“We can’t stay here.  They obviously know we’re here, not to mention the fact that the ground floor would need major renovations to be livable again.”  Hank speaks calmly and matter-of-factly, something that took him three years to achieve.  “But the mansion is compromised.”

“Obviously.”  Erik states dryly.  He’s sitting behind the large oak desk of the study, and he steeples his fingers together contemplatively, surveying Hank, Alex, and Angel as they stand in various positions around the room.  Hank appears calm—he’s been hard to read, ever since he turned furry and blue five years ago—and Alex is wired, unable to sit still as he fiddles absently with a trinket on the mantelpiece.

Angel sinks down gracefully onto to the edge of the chair Erik uses for chess, crossing her legs.  “We’ve got places we can go.”

Erik nods.  “I’m already considering the best course of action.  Once we reach a decision, you’ll know.  In the meantime, Beast, start destroying your lab.  Save what needs to be saved, but otherwise leave nothing that can be recovered.  I’ll be down later to help with Cerebro.”

Without further word Hank turns and exits the office.

“Cruel and unusual, my friend.” Charles says from behind him.  His back is to the office, sharply silhouetted by the light from the window he’s looking out of.  It’s the first thing he’s said all morning.

“We’re not leaving it intact for the humans.”  Erik answers dismissively, even as Angel grins.  _You’ll get over it.  I’ll build you a new one once we move._

_How romantic._

Erik rolls his eyes, but then dutifully asks at Charles’ silent prompting, “How are the children?”

“They’re fine.  Sean’s still with them.” Angel reports.  “We’ve kept them up on the second floor, had a little camp-out in the rec room and brought them all breakfast.  They liked that.  John was missing for a little while last night, but Kitty finally found him hiding in one of the closets.  She won’t stop calling him a scaredy-cat and he nearly lit the couch on fire.”

“Keep them busy.” Erik says.

“You got it, daddy-o.”  Angel hops up to her feet, and with a little half-salute and a wink she’s out the door.

That leaves just Alex, and he’s looking at Erik patiently, waiting for the next directive.  Before anything can be said, Azazel teleports into the room with a cloud of black smoke.

“That’s the last of the bodies, comrade.”  His once-thick accent has smoothed out around the edges.

“Did you put them where I asked?” Charles asks.  His voice has gone from mild and absent to downright icy.

Azazel shows his teeth, amused.  “Of course, Professor.”

Erik gives him a nod.  “Stay close.  We’ll call you.”

Azazel flicks his tail in acknowledgement and then disappears.

“They’re not going to like that.” Alex speaks up, but he sounds neutral on the matter.  “Stacking the bodies in Stryker’s boardroom is going to infuriate him.”

“I don’t like when my home is invaded.” Charles answers.  “He can bloody well deal with his own mess.”

Erik can feel Charles’ slip downwards into blackness, so he casually spins in his chair, giving the telepath a nudge both mental and physical, reaching up to brush his shoulder.  Charles’ spine has grown stiff, but under Erik’s influence he relaxes again, pulling back from the darker parts of his own mind.

 _Thank you_.  “We’re hoping his retaliation will give us a certain clue.”

Erik merely sends him a wave of assurance as he turns his chair to the front again.  They have silent communication down to a science by now.  “We think this is it, Alex.”

Alex raises his eyebrows but he takes a step forward, as if he can’t help it.  “Really?”

Erik gives a deadly smile.  “Yes.  Such a bold attack, aimed straight for Charles…Stryker hates us, but he doesn’t have the balls.  It’s got Shaw’s signature all over it.”

“Should I tell the others?”  Alex asks.

“Not yet.  Not until we’re sure.”  Charles says.  He turns away from the window at last, and steps forward to lean against the back of Erik’s chair.  “In the meantime, I have a proposition for you, once we’re done organizing our move.”

 

X

 

Out of their first class, Alex is best suited for leadership but this wasn’t always the case.  Erik knows an angry kindred spirit when he sees one, so he knows best how to put things in a perspective that Alex will best understand.

Several months after they pull Charles out of hell, the team is a mess and they nearly fall apart.  The re-alliance with Angel and the newer alliance with Azazel and Janos is shaky at best, Raven— _Mystique_ —has left them after she and Charles had their shouting match that shook the mansion walls, Charles is still barely past the point where he doesn’t hate himself, and not for the first time, Erik himself is wondering what he’s gotten himself into.  He doesn’t regret what he and Charles have between them, the almost symbiotic dependence, but Shaw is still alive and free, his crimes against Erik—and now Charles—unanswered to.  Erik knows what he’s doing here, for Charles, but he also doesn’t know what he’s _doing_.

Sean and Hank are helpful; they stay out of the way when they need to but they’re always happy to step up as well.  Angel is slowly readjusting even though Erik suspects she still feels guilty about Darwin, and then Charles, no matter how many times he’s told her it’s a moot point by now.  Even Azazel and Janos are bearable, content to follow under Erik’s orders at a distance, since Erik’s gotten tired of having to peel Charles off the ceiling any time Azazel teleports in too close.

Alex, though, is something else.  He’s angry, and though that’s a given, he’s taken it to another level entirely.  He’s moody, talks back, picks fights, and what little tenuous control he’s built up over his power has all but been destroyed; he’s liable to go off like a bomb more than anything.  Erik’s patience with him has all but run out, and he’s this close to strangling the boy with a drainpipe.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Charles who talks him down.  In one of his rarer—they’re getting more common, at least, now, but it’s still a long, steep upwards slope—calm moments where he seems most like his old self, he tells Erik that out of all the children they’d found on their road trip across the country, Alex reminded him of Erik the most.

Erik scoffs.  “He’s nothing like me.  He’s got no focus, he has nothing but—”

“—his rage to drive him?” Charles finishes for him dryly.

“At least I’m _focused_.” Erik grumbles.  He’s gotten better at admitting when Charles is right, annoying as it is.  It helps that Charles has gotten better at admitting when Erik is right, too.  The perks of sharing minds—very little is lost between them.  “Alex is just all over the place.”

Charles sends him a wave of fondness when he picks up on Erik’s train of thought.  _You have more than just rage driving you now_.  “Can you blame him?  _I’m_ all over the place these days, my friend, so can you imagine how a teenager feels about all of this?  Quite a bit to swallow, isn’t it?”

Erik hears the bleakness beginning to creep back into Charles’ voice, so he gets up and sinks down next to the telepath on the couch, tugging him close.  _I have your serenity_.  “Then tell me, Charles, how are we to deal with him?  He’s going to actually slice someone in half at this rate, and then he’ll be beyond repair.”

Charles relaxes against him, turning his face into Erik’s chest.  He’s quiet for a few moments, and Erik is content to be still with him, absently tracing slow patterns on his spine with one hand.  _Don’t say that.  You’re not beyond repair._

“Hm?” Erik asks lazily, only half-listening and not quite following.

 _You’ve killed people, but you’re not beyond repair_.  Charles elaborates silently.  His eyes are closed.

“Yes, but I rather meant to, didn’t I?” Erik drawls, amused despite himself.  “Alex might act like doesn’t care, but I don’t think he actually wants to hurt anyone here.”

 _Like you, then?_   Charles’ lips haven’t moved, but Erik can feel the grin in his voice.

 _Cheeky._  Erik flicks his shoulder lightly.  “You were proposing an idea, Professor?”

“Yes.”  Charles shifts, pressing closer sleepily.  Erik hopes he can get more than an hour’s worth of sleep eventually before the nightmares strike.  “I might have done some shuffling through his mind and—”

“Stay out of his head, Charles.” Erik growls, his grip tightening for a moment.  Here is the difference between the old Charles and the one left behind by Shaw.  “You stay in mine, alright?”

“He didn’t even notice.” Charles answers dismissively.  _Besides, I didn’t_ touch _anything_.  “But when I did, I found—”

“No.”  Erik pulls him back, so that Charles is forced to lift his head, opening his eyes to meet Erik’s gaze.  “You stay _out_ of their heads unless they say otherwise.  If you want to screw around in someone’s mind, you come to _me_.”

Charles stares him down unblinkingly.  “I’ve already had this argument with _Mystique_ , Erik,” he says, voice dripping with acid, “would you care for a rehash?”

“This isn’t the same thing.”  Erik glares at him.  “Only me.  Do you understand?”

Charles holds his gaze for a few moments longer but then he blinks, eyelashes fluttering as he nearly sags in Erik’s grip.  “Yes—yes of course, you’re right, my friend, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“I know.”  Erik relaxes again, allowing Charles to press forward again.  “I know.”  He lets the silence sit for a few minutes, giving Charles some time to work through the emotions he knows are coiling in the telepath’s gut—Charles _hates_ his relapses.  Eventually, he asks calmly, “What did you find?”

“Something that I think will help get Alex back on track.” Charles mumbles, and shows him.  “I just need a session with Cerebro once you and Hank finish building it.”

Erik waits until the images Charles has shoved at him fade before speaking.  “We’re close.  Give us another week and it’ll be ready.”  He pauses.  “That seems like it could work, though.”

Charles nods, and then Erik gets the impression of a tentative smile.  “Then in a week, my friend, you’re taking Alex on a road trip.”

 

X

 

Charles listens to Erik’s voice as he talks on the phone, following along with the other half of the conversation by listening in through Erik’s mind.  Contrary to what he knows most of the people who know them believe, he is not telepathically dependent on Erik.  There may have been a few months, back in the beginning, when he _may_ have forged their connection a little too deeply, but they’ve long since worked out the mechanics of their bond.  Erik has the helmet for a reason, after all.

“No.  We’ll contact you again once we’re en route.”  He likes the precise, clipped syllables of Erik’s business voice.  His accent gets a little more pronounced and he sounds every inch the calm, collected leader Charles knows that Erik was born to be.  Being in control is Erik’s ultimate shield, and he wears it very well.

Charles can vaguely recall having the same sort of…something.  He used to...

Icily calm, he dismisses the thought.  It’s probably not important anyway.

Erik hangs up the phone without fanfare, glancing sideways at him and raising one eyebrow.  Charles gives him an idle smile, absent and quickly gone.  “Are your radical friends open to children?”

“They’re not my friends.”  Erik says gruffly, standing up to stretch.  Charles watches appreciatively, and doesn’t bother to hide it.  “There is plenty of space for us.  You know there is, Charles, it’s one of the reasons why I’ve wanted to move there for ages, now.”

Charles does.  He knows the argument well.  He huffs out a breath in lieu of answering.  He can practically feel the satisfaction that Erik is radiating at finally getting his way, despite the circumstances.

“I’ll have Azazel take Sean and Angel ahead with the young ones.” Erik continues, skimming over the argument a tad more gracefully.  It hardly matters now.  “You and I can fly with Beast and whatever equipment he deems necessary in the Blackbird.”

Charles nods once.  He can handle Azazel’s presence, and doesn’t flinch anymore whenever the red mutant teleports into the same room as him, but the mere thought of teleporting along _with_ Azazel makes him break out in cold sweat.

Some things, it seems, are not so easily forgotten.

“Shouldn’t you teleport ahead with the others?” He asks, clearing his throat.  “I don’t like the idea of sending the children alone.”

“Azazel will come back for Alex once he’s finished with the job you gave him.”  Erik says at once.  “He’ll be there.  But, honestly, Charles,” and now he’s amused, “it’s not like they’re going to recruit the children at first sight.  They know that they’re mine—that they’re _yours_ —and that we do things differently.”

At that Charles manages a better smile.  “They’re hardly mine.  Alex, Sean, Hank, and Angel do all the work.”

“You find them.”  Even Erik’s thoughts are resolute with his conviction as he crosses over to Charles, settling his hands on the telepath’s hips.  “You’re the one who rescues them.  Even if they don’t know you, they’re yours.”

Charles makes a vague noise of agreement, tilting his head back for a kiss.  Erik isn’t afraid of being rough, but today he’s slow and languid as he works his mouth against Charles’, dipping his tongue past Charles’ lips, casually but firmly dominating.  Caught up in the kiss and the feeling of Erik’s hands sliding slowly up and down his sides, Charles doesn’t realize he’s being backed up until the back of his legs bump into the edge of the desk lightly, and he slides back to sit on the wood, pulling Erik forward so that they’re pressed flush against each other, warm with body heat.

Erik’s hands are just beginning to inch past Charles’ belt when the telepath goes stiff, pulling back the barest of millimeters.

“Moira is here.”  Charles smiles.  It is not a particularly pleasant smile.

Erik’s mirroring grin is slow to form, but he matches Charles once it does.  He can probably feel the car that has just pulled up the long driveway.  “Well, far be it from us to keep her waiting.”  This close, his voice is a mere breath across Charles’ lips.  He presses forward again, stealing one more kiss, this one not as gentle as the first—Charles has to seize Erik’s shoulders to keep from being pressed all the way back against the surface of the desk.  _I expect to finish this later_.  He pulls back just as abruptly, but his thoughts are dark with promise.

Charles slides back down to his feet, straightening his jacket absently.  His smile is downright wicked now, for more than one reason.  _Of course, love.  Of course_.  His answer is about as sincere as he can be, but he’s already moving for the door to the study.  Erik falls into step behind him, and Charles can hear his thoughts— _monitormonitorbutsitbackandwatchtheshow_.

Because if there is one person who brings out the proverbial worst side of Charles even after years of careful rebuilding, Agent Moira MacTaggert is like a spark to a centimeter-long fuse.

 

X

 

The first time Charles uses the new Cerebro, Erik nearly destroys it again when he has to yank the telepath back out.

He’s holding a shivering and shaking Charles close to his chest with one arm and yelling at Hank to shut off that damn noise while his free arm is lifted as he tries to re-straighten the metal arm of the machine’s helmet that he unintentionally warped a few seconds prior.

“Now _get out_.” Erik says as soon as Hank’s shut down the furious beeping of the machine.  Not nearly as easily intimidated as he used to be, Hank raises blue, furry eyebrows, but he goes.  As the door slides shut behind him, Erik adjusts the grip he has on Charles and uses his power to seal the door shut to prevent any kind of reentry.  “Now.  What happened.”

Charles has stopped shaking for the most part, but his grip on Erik’s shirt is knuckle-white and his eyes are squeezed shut.  _I couldn’t…it was too much._

“Wrong settings?” Erik asks.  He’s not ready to blame Hank, exactly, but he’ll certainly lay blame where blame is due.  His nerves are still standing on end from the noise Charles had made shortly before Erik had decided to pull him out—infinitely worse than the sound Charles had made the very first time he’d used the original Cerebro.

“No, no.”  Charles shakes his head, opening his eyes, and he looks _haunted_.  “It was…me.  I couldn’t…so many minds, _defenseless_ minds, and I wanted—I wanted—”

He can’t finish, but Erik suddenly understands with terrible clarity.  His heart aches a little as he pulls Charles even closer into a real embrace; for once overriding the white-hot hatred for Shaw he usually feels whenever he has to watch Charles struggle to do something he used to love and do with ease.

“Next time I’ll ride along with you up here.” Erik says quietly, reaching up to brush Charles’ temple.  “We can do this, Charles.”

“Oh, my friend.” Charles murmurs, sounding drawn-out and tired, but he doesn’t move away and he doesn’t argue.

Erik lets Hank back in to do further checks on the machinery, and even then it’s another two days before Erik lets Charles try again, and the whole time he can’t help but think that Shaw really couldn’t have picked a better way to utterly destroy the telepath even if he tried.

 

X

 

Moira takes a deep, calming breath before knocking on the mansion’s huge front door.  She’s going to need all the calm she can manage to get through this.  They’ve corresponded over the phone several times over the past year, connection shaky at best, but after this morning, she felt like she needed to talk to them in person.

“Go on in, it’s not like your buddies knocked last night.”  A gruff voice from behind her makes her jump.

“Jesus, Logan.”  She glares at the now smirking man.  “You don’t honestly believe that I would _ever_ condone this?”

“No,” Logan says bluntly, climbing the rest of the steps to reach past her and push the door open, “but you know that’s not what Xavier’s going to say.”

Moira sighs.  “I know.  Is everyone okay?”

“No one was hurt.”  Logan shrugs as they step into the foyer together, and Moira truly is relieved.

“I’m glad.”  She can see signs of the raid, evident everywhere—mud, and in some cases, blood, tracked all over the usually pristine floor, burnt and mutilated tapestry, bullet holes embedded into paintings and walls.

“Moira.”  Charles comes down the stairs at a leisurely pace, blue eyes trained on her with the same lazy indulgence of a predator on prey.  Erik trails him, unreadable as ever.  “I was beginning to wonder about how long you’d be.  They got our message, did they?”

“Hello Charles.”  Moira says, steeling herself.  “Erik.”

“Agent MacTaggert.”  Erik says in his low voice, appraising her silently.  She actually doesn’t know where she stands with him—before, it was easy and straightforward to recognize his intense dislike of humans.  Now, though…

 _Someone_ has to keep Charles in check.

“We found the bodies. “  She says, her voice cool and professional.  “A real nice touch, stacking them up across the table.”  At least that’s how the reports had read.  She hadn’t actually gone in to the room—the smell from the hallway had been bad enough.

Charles chuckles, but there isn’t an ounce of mirth in the sound and his gaze is dead.  “Azazel has an odd sense of humor.”  Moira can feel him brushing across her mind, his touch cold where it used to be warm.  She grits her teeth and doesn’t comment on the blatant intrusion.  He’ll kick up a bigger fuss if she does, and that will make her job here harder than it will be already. 

He chuckles again when he hears her thoughts, and it makes her want to shiver.

By unspoken agreement, they move into the sitting room that’s just off the main foyer.  Moira still knows the way, and this room looks largely untouched, at least, by the battle she knows must have happened throughout the rest of the mansion last night.  Despite the fact that Charles probably hates her his manners are still impeccable, and he offers her a refreshment as they settle into the room, Erik and Charles taking the couch while Moira claims the chair across from them and Logan situates himself by the window.

“No, thank you.”  Somehow being reminded even slightly of how Charles used to be hurts, but Moira controls her expression.  It is how it is.  “So.  You know why I’m here.”

“Of course I do.” Charles says.  He’s sitting on the edge of his seat, posture straight.  “You’re here to warn us that Stryker’s holding a meeting right now with a choice few top officials, the subject matter being us, of course.”

“Well, what else did you think would happen?” Moira demands.  “You stacked _bodies_ of our men in—”

“Men that _stormed my home_ last night,” Charles interrupts her icily, “with orders to capture or kill the mutant freaks.  This _is_ still America, isn’t it?  It’s within my rights to kill in self-defense.  But I thought we’d moved past the quartering of soldiers in private citizens’ homes.”

“You couldn’t have just wiped their minds?” Moira snaps, and damn it, she’d promised herself that she’d be calm.  But there are forty-two dead men back in the office and she knows that all of this could have been avoided.  “Put them to sleep, make them forget where they were?”  _Like you wanted to do to me_ , she wants to add, but it isn’t the time or place.

Charles snorts, and somehow makes it still sound dignified.  “That’s a temporary solution at best, my dear,” he says, “and I’m sure you noticed the helmets they were wearing.  Is that the new standard-issue these days?”  He’s practically projecting his fury, and Moira finds it’s a little hard to breathe under its pressing weight.

Unlike Charles, Erik lounges against the cushions, and it’s a strange juxtaposition to see them like this; Erik relaxed while Charles vibrates with tension.  Erik watches her struggle for a moment, before he reaches over to brush the telepath’s thigh, murmuring something that Moira doesn’t catch.

Charles deflates, shoulders hunching in slightly, and Moira can breathe normally, as the feeling of Charles’ fury fades as he withdraws. 

“I’m sorry,” he says distantly, as if he’s not even sure why he’s apologizing in the first place.

“It’s alright, Charles.”  Moira answers quietly.  It really isn’t, not at all, but there’s nothing to be done.

“What does Stryker intend to do next?” Erik asks, watching her intently.  For all that he appears relaxed, she knows he actually isn’t.  “If he’s meeting with top officials, he must be planning another raid.”

 _You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?_ Moira thinks, and Charles huffs out a dry laugh that Erik ignores.  Aloud, Moira says, “Well, with that little stunt of display, you’ve certainly highlighted yourselves for investigation.  I’m not agreeing that it was okay for them to order an attack on you in the first place,” she says sharply when Charles opens his mouth again, “but you could have at least kept your retaliation a little more quiet.  Now even the President wants to know what the hell went on.  It’s not long before this ends up going public.  Forty-two men dying here on American soil isn’t easy to cover up and explain away.”

“Mutant and proud.” Charles mocks, and Moira flinches.  She hadn’t witnessed most of the events that led up to Raven’s departure, but she knows the general gist of the matter.  “Maybe it’s time that your President recognizes that his species isn’t alone anymore at the top of the food chain.”  Even as he speaks, he blinks, his mouth twisting.

“Oh, Charles.”  Moira says softly before she can stop herself.

Charles shoots to his feet.  “ _Don’t_ , Moira.”  He stalks out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Is there really no…cure?”  Moira winces.  Putting it like that makes it seem simple, as if it’s merely sickness affecting Charles.

“I don’t know.”  Erik answers, and she can tell he’s being honest.  “It’s been five years and he still can’t reconcile what he thinks and feels with what he knows he’s _supposed_ to think and feel.”

“I suppose that makes your life easier, in a way,” Moira tries to say bitterly, but she can’t quite get her voice to hold enough bite, “since he’s onboard with your…ideals.”

“Not a day goes by where I don’t wish it hadn’t happened.” Erik says steadily.  They’ve had this argument before, which is the only reason they’re able to be so calm about it now.

It’d been a shouting match, one Moira can remember in vivid detail even now.  She is fairly certain that Erik had come close to killing her—it’d be no skin off his teeth, after all; even when they’d been a team he’d never been particularly warm to her—and the only thing that held him back was the sole fact that Charles never would have forgiven him if he had.

Well.  The Charles they used to know wouldn’t have, at any rate.

“After today, we will no longer be in residence here.”  Erik says matter-of-factly, and it takes every bit of her CIA training to keep herself from gaping at him.  “We’re well aware of what our little stunt will provoke.”

“Why are you telling me this?”  She asks incredulously.

Erik smirks.  “Because we still need you.”

“I’m not following.” Moira says slowly.  She’s aware that she’s wading into dangerous territory.

Erik seems to debate on what to tell her.  “We need you to keep an eye on Stryker.  Find out who he’s answering to.”

“As in, say, the CIA Director?” Moira says dryly.

Erik shakes his head.  “I mean off the record.  Every single one of those soldiers last night was wearing a helmet similar to the one in my possession.  The one I took from Shaw.”  He lets that sink in before continuing, “The CIA might know that Charles is a telepath, but they had no way of knowing how to neutralize him like that.  They didn’t know about the helmet.  Until now.”

Moira is sharp.  She sees where the trail is leading.  “You think Shaw’s the one pulling strings.”

“Very good, Agent MacTaggert.”

She ignores the condescension—coming from Erik, at least, it’s a norm.  “But Shaw is still on our most-wanted list.  There’s no way Stryker would be doing any back-door dealing with—” She stops.  Colonel Hendry hadn’t had a problem with it.  Judging by the look on Erik’s face, he has no trouble believing the same could be true for Stryker.  “But…he _hates_ mutants.”

“Just looking at me, MacTaggert, would you be able to guess what I can do?”  Erik says in answer.  “Not all of us are blue like Beast.  We don’t know the whole story here—Stryker might not even be dealing with Shaw directly, but someone who’s been sent by Shaw.  Emma Frost would hardly need to strain herself to run circles around you G-men.  Maybe Stryker thinks he’s dealing with someone who shares his mutual disgust of mutants.”  He sneers.  “I know how Shaw operates, MacTaggert, and this has his name all over it.”

As if she needs to be reminded.  “It certainly would add up.”  She pauses, as if considering.  In reality she’d made her mind up even before coming here.  “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Erik nods once, like she’s asked him if he doesn’t mind her doing something for him.  Jesus.

“What’s stopping you from grabbing Stryker yourself and handing him over to Charles?” Moira asks after a brief period of silence.  “No doubt Charles wouldn’t mind, ah…reading his mind.”  And then probably _melting_ his mind.

“Charles _should_ mind.” Erik says, and that’s the principle of it.

Moira looks at him for a long minute.  “I’m glad he has you.” She says at last.  She gives a humorless laugh.  “You know, before, I thought _you’d_ be the one who we’d have to watch.  And, you know.  Keep from destroying mankind.”

“I wouldn’t say that isn’t a possibility.” Erik says idly.  It could be mistaken for a joke but Moira knows that he’s dead serious.  “Perhaps once I destroy Shaw.”

Of course.  Shaw is and always will be the end goal.  “Jesus, Lehnsherr.  I was only kidding.”

Erik gives her a smile that shows far too many teeth.  “The only thing keeping me from sending Azazel from snatching Stryker out of his office is that he’s connected somehow to Shaw.  He serves me better right now alive than dead, but don’t think for a second that he won’t end up that way eventually.”

Moira stays very still for a moment.  “He has a son, you know.”

“You’re defending him now?”  Erik is supremely unconcerned.  “You came here to warn us, MacTaggert, so whose side are you _really_ on?”

“Charles’.”  Moira says stubbornly.

Erik sobers.  “And he hates you.”

Moira offers him a faint smile.  “Funny how that works, though.”

Erik pushes himself to his feet, and Moira takes that as her cue to rise as well.  “We’ll be in touch, MacTaggert.”

“Not going to tell me where you’re going?”

“I don’t trust you _that_ much.”

Moira knows that it’s probably better for all of them if she doesn’t know their exact whereabouts.  It still hurts, though, but the agent side tells of her tells herself to get over it.  “Stay safe, Erik.”  She pauses on her way to the door.  “And take care of Charles.”

“Get out, MacTaggert.” Erik rumbles, half warning and half something else.

Moira holds back a laugh that may or may not be on the edge of hysteria and lets herself out of the room before either of them do something they may or may not regret.  The trip back through the foyer to the front door is quick, and she’s nearly to her car before Logan speaks.

“You sure you’re not getting in over your head, MacTaggert?”

Moira nearly jumps out of her skin, sputtering.  “ _Shit_ , Logan, why the hell are you _following_ me out here—” She breaks off, her heart still pounding.  Some agent she is.  She’s practically forgotten Logan had been in the room the entire time—Erik and Charles both have rather dominating presences, but that’s still no excuse.  And the man moves _noiselessly_ , to have made it all the way out here without her noticing.

Logan merely raises one eyebrow and waits, chewing on his cigar stub.

Moira leans against the door of her car.  She doesn’t know Logan very well, but if he’s good enough for Erik and Charles, she might as well consider him family.  “I don’t know.  Maybe I am.  Only one way to find out.”

Logan nods, accepting her answer.  “From what I figure, this Shaw is a sack of shit and the world will be a better off place without him.”

Moira appraises him.  She’s not sure how much he knows or doesn’t know about everything.  “Then you and I are in strong agreement.  So you’re going with them?”

He shrugs.  “Haven’t decided yet.  Lehnsherr and I don’t always see eye-to-eye—” he smirks, and Moira has no doubt that their temperaments grate on each other, “—but Chuck, well.”  He shrugs again, as if that’s explanation enough.

Moira can relate.  Sometimes she thinks that Erik and Charles got the wrong mutations—it’s Charles who is magnetic, no matter what he’s like.

“Good luck, Logan.”  Moira opens the car door after one last look at the mansion and slides inside, fumbling with her keys and the ignition.

Logan snorts as the engine starts.  “Save it for yourself, MacTaggert.”

She smiles, pulling her door shut.  She gives him a jaunty wave and then with the crunch of tires over gravel she pulls away from the house.  She’s at the gates to the main road when Charles breaks his silence.

_I wish that I could wish that Erik was wrong, when he said that I hate you._

_Charles_.  Moira thinks back.  _Charles_.

 _Good luck, darling_.  Icy contempt.  _You’ll need it_.

 

X

 

Alex trades off between staring moodily out the window, demanding why he’s been forced to go, threatening to blast the car to pieces, and telling Erik that his word means _shit_ all throughout the day-long drive from Westchester to Omaha.  Erik lets him seethe, and doesn’t say a word, even when Alex starts trying to actively get him to respond by using every insult he knows.  Better to let him get it all out now, Erik reasons.  Besides, it’s like an exercise of his own patience.  Charles would be proud.

Erik drives straight to their destination, stopping only for gas.  Alex sleeps with his face pressed against the window.

He’s tired when they finally reach the dingy, overcrowded orphanage that is their end goal, but he’s been worse off before, and on the plus side he gets to enjoy the pure confusion on Alex’s face.

Every bit of attitude he’s had to tolerate in the past 24 hours becomes worth it, though, as he watches Alex finally catch sight of the little boy with a ratty bandana tied tightly across his eyes.

Erik is sure there’s a tearful reunion involved, but it’s none of his business and he has to deal with the paperwork anyway.  Charles has sent him with the right sort of documents for this so all he has to do is the mundane fill-in-the-blank that this admittedly terrible establishment requires, and by the time he’s done all that’s left to do is bundle the Summers brothers back into the car together and then they’re off, driving straight back the way they came.

Erik waits until Scott has fallen asleep, excitement and adrenaline finally wearing off so that he’s sprawled across the back seat with his head in Alex’s lap before he says anything.  “You know what this means, Summers?”

Alex tears his eyes away from his brother to meet Erik’s gaze through the rearview.

“You’re a role model now.  Act like it.”

Alex swallows but then he nods seriously, and Erik turns his gaze back to the road.  Charles is going to be unbearably pleased with himself when he sees how well his idea works.

Sixty miles pass in silence before Alex says anything.  “Thank you.  Erik.  I’m…I’m sorry.”

Erik resists the urge to grin.  No point in letting Alex think he’s gone soft.  “You can thank Charles when we get home.”

Alex does, and then sets about fashioning himself into the best sort of role model Scott could ever have.


	3. This isn't the way I wanted to make you see

Shaw chuckles.  “Charles Xavier.  You’re quite powerful, aren’t you?  Nothing I can’t handle, but you certainly gave Ms. Frost a run for her money.”

Charles tries to fight his way through his drug-induced haze to slip into Shaw’s mind, but he slides right off of the other mutant, kept at bay by something that’s just now coming into focus—on Shaw’s head is a _ridiculous_ looking helmet, covering his hair and framing his face and keeping Charles from feeling, reading, controlling his mind.

“Do you like it?”  Shaw taps the shined surface with one finger.  “You might be stronger than dear Emma, but this is still more than enough to keep you out of my head.”  His expression turns contemplative, and then he presses two fingers lightly onto Charles’ eighth and ninth ribs.  “Do you know why I’ve brought you here, Professor?”

Charles flinches when he begins to press down, two points of pressure that slowly gain more and more strength.  Charles tries to twist away, but the metal cuffs hold him fast and still beneath the unrelenting force.  He can’t seem to get his pulse to stop racing, and he’s still practically gasping for breath.

Shaw stops just on the edge of unbearable.  “It’s an exchange, Professor.  Erik took my telepath, so in return, I’ve taken his.  You.”

 

X

 

Given what Erik knows about Charles—that is, everything, by now—he isn’t the least bit surprised when Charles hardly bats an eye as they watch Alex systematically destroy the mansion.  He’s never said it outright, but Erik’s long suspected that Charles hates his childhood home, and hated it long before he brought back mutant refugees to use it as a training ground.

How silly their preparations look in hindsight.  They hadn’t been ready, not in the slightest.

The only outward side of _anything_ Charles gives is a slight tightening at the corners of his eyes as they watch the roof collapse, walls finally giving in after being blasted long enough by plasma.  Erik watches Charles watch, the flames reflecting in those blue eyes.

Azazel appears so abruptly that it’s a tangible mark of Charles’ improvement that he doesn’t even flinch.  “That’s the last of everything, comrade.”

“Thank you.”  Erik says.  The teleporter has been busy this morning—transporting Hank’s equipment to the airstrip where the current model of the Blackbird waits, and then taking Sean, Angel, and the children ahead to their new base.

“You sure you don’t want a lift, Professor?”  Azazel is grinning.

“Get out of my sight, Azazel, before I turn your mind inside out.” Charles says absently, giving off the impression of not paying very much attention in favor of watching his house burn down.  Erik knows that in fact the opposite is the case—he can practically _feel_ every fiber of Charles’ being tuned in to the red mutant’s presence.

Outwardly, Erik rolls his eyes.  If they’ve reached the point where Azazel can be crude about it without Charles having a meltdown, he’ll count it as progress.  “Go,” he orders, “take Alex ahead with you.  We’ll see you in a few hours.”

Azazel nods, and vanishes with a sharp _crack_ , only to reappear next to where Alex is standing closer to the rubble.

The main staircase collapses now and Charles shuts his eyes.  Erik gets a brief flash of the sensation of a sharp shove of hands to his chest and falling down those stairs, and the phantom pain of his wrist snapping.  He shakes off the vision that wasn’t his and settles his hand, wrist unbroken, in the small of Charles’ back, turning him away from the ruins of the mansion.

“Hank is waiting.”  Erik spares one glance backwards in time to see Azazel and Alex disappear.

Charles goes willingly, opening his eyes.  “Of course he is.” He remarks idly.  He lets Erik guide him towards the waiting car, brushing their shoulders lightly.  “Please, Erik.”

Charles doesn’t say please lightly anymore.  Erik turns back to the mansion as Charles climbs into the car and raises one arm, searching out all of the metal in the burning mess, gripping the pieces with his power.  He makes sure to search underground too, down where the bunker and the labs are hidden, along with what’s left of Cerebro—nothing but an empty shell, of course; he’d personally seen to its destruction earlier, leaving nothing to chance.  Erik makes a fist and _wrenches_ , and with a loud, satisfying scream of metal the mansion crumbles completely, collapsing into itself in a cacophony of noise that Erik is pretty sure can be heard across the state.  Smoke is billowing thickly up into the air now, a great black column that is sure to attract attention soon despite the isolation of the estate.

His job done, Erik lets his arm drop and he crosses over to the driver’s side of the car, sliding inside and using his power to pull the door shut and flick on the engine.  Charles is slumped down in the passenger seat, eyes shut again.

“You’re allowed to be a little sentimental,” Erik says lightly as he guides the car down the drive, “about the loss of your liquor cabinet.”

Charles snorts.  It’s utterly undignified, but it’s better than nothing.  “Do shut up, Erik.”  But underneath his thoughts whisper, _Thank you_.

“I know I will miss the wine cellar,” Erik continues as if he hasn’t heard him, falsely solemn, “but I’ll muster up my courage and shove on, I imagine.”

Charles groans, but he finally opens his eyes and sits a little straighter, lips quirking.  “I couldn’t imagine you doing anything else, darling.”

They leave the remains of the mansion behind, and while Erik glances back once or twice in the rearview to observe the rising column of smoke, Charles doesn’t look back once.

 

X

 

The first time Charles meets a mutant he is standing in his kitchen at midnight and within minutes he thinks that Raven is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

The second time Charles meets a mutant he is jumping off a ship into the Atlantic Ocean at 10:53 pm and in that instant he _knows_ that Erik is the most beautiful thing in the entire world.

He can’t help it, exactly, the way his mind brushes up against Erik’s and he instantly knows a great very much about Erik and his life and the circumstances that have led up to his being dragged behind a submarine off the coast of Miami, and much later at the CIA base Charles foolishly tells him _Everything_ when Erik asks him what, exactly, do you know about me.  Charles is young, a tad arrogant, and thinks that it will be enough.

Erik tells him to stay out of his head.  The words cut, and remind him of Raven, but Charles keeps calm— _it’s annoying how you’re always so calm, Charles_ —and clues Erik in on one little fact: he could make Erik stay, but he won’t.  Then he backs off and goes inside, still reeling with how much his mind _fits_ with Erik’s, surely he must have _noticed_ , it was like a bloody _supernova_ in the black eternity of barren space—

Erik stays.

And the next morning when Charles sides with Erik, says it out loud for everyone to hear, _I’m with Erik_ , Erik gives him a slow, gradual smile that seems private and only for him; and Charles knows that he has made his second friend in his entire life.

The rest of course is, as they say, history.

 

X

 

Hank is practically pacing by the time Erik and Charles pull up to the private warehouse holding the Blackbird, his blue fur in its usual disarray given the amount of times he’s run his claws through it in impatience.  He’s triple-checked that his equipment is tied down and secured properly, and he’s gone through the pre-takeoff checklist twice.  The warehouse is eerily empty, but it has to be—not very many people would take kindly to a tall, blue _person_ walking about, would they, so Charles had taken care of that in advance via Cerebro, sending everyone on their way.

He’d wanted to give them all permanent blindness, but Erik had stopped him.  Small mercies.

In any case, Hank is grateful to the Professor for making his morning run a little more smoothly without any unnecessary scenes, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t wish it weren’t necessary in the first place.  He’s had four and half years to get over the fact that he won’t be _normal_ -looking ever again and he’s come to terms with it, he really has, but there’s always that forlorn little _what if_ that pops up any time he actually has to leave his labs or the house.

“Glad you could make it.” He says to Erik, and whether or not he actually means for the words to come out as a growl is open to interpretation.

“Thanks for waiting, Hank, there’s a chap.” Charles says, somewhat dreamily as he passes, clapping Hank on the shoulder.  Hank recognizes _that_ particular look on the Professor’s face right away and decides not to comment.  He knows the Professor asked Alex to burn down his home before they left, so he figures that Charles has a pretty good excuse to hole up inside himself for the time being.

“Are we ready for takeoff?” Erik asks calmly as the telepath walks up the gangway and disappears up into the plane.

“Only finished fueling up an hour ago.” Hank says dryly.

Erik grins like a shark.  At least, that’s what Sean, Alex, and Angel like to compare Erik’s grins to.  Hank is a scientist, however, and maintains that sharks do not _grin_ —they merely open their mouths and show all of their numerous, large teeth.  Alex argues that what Erik does is kind of the same thing, and Hank is kind of inclined to agree with him: it supports his theory that Erik Lehnsherr doesn’t actually grin at all, ever, to anyone—except Charles.

“Get a move on it, Hank.” Erik says, and Hank realizes that the metallokinetic is already halfway to the plane.

Hank lopes easily around him, ducking a little to fit through the hatch and slip forward to settle himself into the pilot’s seat.  Charles has already strapped himself in to the chair behind the copilot’s seat, head tilted back as he looks up at the ceiling blankly.  Hank straps down too and beings powering up the plane as Erik joins them, putting a hand on Charles’ shoulder absently as he edges past to slide down in the copilot’s chair.  He doesn’t bother with the seatbelts, and Hank doesn’t bother asking him to—Erik could probably hold himself in place by sheer force of will if it came down to it.

“How long till we’re there, Hank?” Charles asks.  Considerate of him, seeing as how there’s not much stopping him from merely plucking the answer out of Hank’s brain.

Hank considers the coordinates that Erik has just tapped into the system and does some math.  “Eleven hours, Professor, give or take.”

“Splendid.” Charles murmurs.

Hank maneuvers the Blackbird out of the warehouse, taxiing out to the runway.  Charles _might_ have been a little heavy-handed with his telepathic orders; the runway is devoid of any other planes.  Erik is monitoring the steady output of readings the plane is flashing across the screen in front of him, but Hank doesn’t need to look too closely to know that he’s got that distant, faraway look in his eyes that he gets whenever he’s talking to Charles mind-to-mind.

“No Logan?” Hank asks casually as the plane pivots and the engines begin to fire up, preparing for takeoff.

“Says he’ll meet up with us eventually.”  Erik says.  Hank is half-certain that Magneto probably would have been better off going ahead by teleportation with Azazel, but these days he’s all about whatever Charles needs.

As he should be, is Hank’s flat opinion.

“No surprises there,” is all Hank says in reply.

Charles huffs out a laugh.  “On the contrary, Hank, Logan is full of surprises.”

 _I’m sure, Professor_ , Hank thinks, _seeing as he’s semi-immune to telepathy I’m sure he’s a regular sensation to you._

Another chuckle from Charles and Hank knows he’s been heard.  Hank’s never had too big of a problem with the Professor reading his mind—then again, he never really had much of a choice, since Charles has been reading his mind ever since they first laid eyes on each other ( _Another mutant, how wonderful—oh, I am so terribly sorry_ ).  But Hank never really got whatever Ra—Mystique’s big deal was with her brother reading her mind; it was clear to even Hank at the time that Charles would never actually use his powers for anything detrimental.

Now, of course, that’s heavily debatable depending on a number of factors including whether or not you’re a mutant, but Hank sees that as not really being Charles’ fault.

Takeoff is smooth and flawless, and soon they’re leveling out above the clouds and Hank settles himself in for a long, uneventful flight.

 _Goodbye, New York_ , Hank thinks, and Charles chimes in, _I won’t be sorry to see the last of you_.

 

X

 

Erik does not like Cerebro.

It takes him a long time to forget the sound that comes out of Charles’ mouth when Hank first turns on the machine, something between a gasp of uncomfortable surprise and a gasp of pain.  Charles is soon laughing breathlessly after that, eyes wide and staring forward sightlessly with great anticipation, but Erik’s still hung up on how tightly the telepath initially grips the metal railing in front of him.  The printer’s spitting out coordinates faster than Erik can read them, so it must be working, but Erik doesn’t relax again until Hank figures they have a good amount to start with and powers Cerebro down.

Erik watches Raven help her brother down from the platform, eyebrows raised.  Charles is mildly disorientated and can’t really seem to get his body to fully cooperate, but he’s wearing one of the sunniest grins Erik has ever seen—and that’s saying a lot, as he’s known Charles for _almost_ 36 hours now.

That grin almost makes _him_ want to smile, even though he has no business wearing that sort of expression.  Ever.

“That was marvelous, Hank,” Charles is saying to Hank, his usual carefully-formed British vowels slurring slightly around the edges, “an incredible invention, truly.”

Hank is flushing, stammering his thanks, and Raven is grinning, her false, blond form looking between Hank and Charles with delight, and Erik has another moment of _whatthefuckamIdoinghere_.  This seems to be happening a lot lately.

He must have projected that last thought loudly enough for Charles to overhear, because Erik can practically feel the telepath’s attention settle on him from across the circular room—there is something about Charles’ telepathy that Erik finds instantly recognizable, as if he can sense when Charles is going to use it even before the telltale brush of his mind.  Erik tenses, automatically bracing himself for intrusion, and then is surprised when Charles doesn’t even touch him, gently withdrawing and pulling away without prying.

Something about that gesture, of Charles not taking advantage even though he clearly could and there’s really nothing stopping him, loosens something further in Erik’s chest, something that’s been slowly loosening ever since Charles first dropped down on him from out of the goddamned sky.

So, Erik throws caution to the wind and does something he normally would never do, but there’s just _something_ about Charles, this confounding, arrogant, naïve man he’s only known for 36 hours and yet is the only person in eighteen long years that has make Erik slow down—and dare he say it, _put on hold_ —his hunt for Shaw.

 _When do we leave?_ He thinks as loudly as he can, a curling tendril of thought that he hopes Charles can hear.  Erik’s never exactly communicated intentionally with a telepath before.

Charles is still leaning heavily against Raven’s shoulder as she’s saying something that’s making Hank blush, but as soon as Erik extends his though Charles looks straight at him, and Erik stands corrected about the previous grin, because against all logic, Charles’ grin has gotten even brighter, his whole face lighting up.

 _How does first thing in the morning sound, my friend_? He answers right into Erik’s head, bright and warm even silently like this, and that thing in Erik’s chest loosens a little more.

 

X

 

Sean stands in between Alex and Angel as they watch the Blackbird slowly maneuver into position, hovering carefully before slowly lowering straight down onto the tarmac.  He’s gotta admit, the Andes Mountains certainly make an awesome background for the whole scene, and he can’t wait to try out his version of flying out here at a later point, once he gets permission and all that jazz.  Soon the plane has settled onto its wheels with only a mild thump, and the engines power down as the gangway lowers.

“Bets on Magneto’s first words?” Angel asks, flipping her hair back over her shoulder from where it was blown by the Blackbird’s turbulence.

Sean considers.  “Where’s Azazel,” he says confidently as Hank emerges, followed closely by Erik and Charles.  Erik’s wearing the helmet, but they all know better than to comment on it.

Angel grins, but then she’s addressing the newcomers as they move into earshot.  “Howdy, boys.  How was the flight?”

“Lovely, thank you, Angel.” Charles answers her, perfectly polite, but Sean can tell that he’s more interested in the mountains too.

It’s really too bad, Sean thinks, if the Professor weren’t so fucked up they probably would’ve been pretty good bros.

“Where’s Azazel?” Erik asks, and raises an eyebrow when Angel and Alex both snort.

Sean gives a loopy grin.  “Said something about a break, comrade.  But he also said he’d be back later to help Hank unload and move shit.”

“Oh, good.” Hank says, sounding relieved.

“I’ll help you too, Bozo.” Alex says with a faint smirk, to which Hank rolls his eyes.  The insult holds next to no bite, just as it hasn’t ever since Alex and Erik brought Scott home.

“Are the children settled in?” Charles asks.

“Oh yeah, they’re loving it,” Angel confirms, “Magneto built this place with plenty of room to spare.  Jubilee’s got them now, keeping them entertained.”

“Good.” Erik says when Charles merely gives Angel a blank look.  Sean can sympathize—like the Professor and Hank, he doesn’t deal much with whatever Erik does when he’s not at the mansion.  Azazel, Janos, and Angel are Erik’s three main cohorts he takes with him, and sometimes Alex.

“Jubilee’s perfect for the kids,” Angel says to the Professor, “she’s got the right energy for it.”

“She can like shoot these balls of, like, electricity or some shit.” Sean whispers to Hank loudly.  “In all these different _colors_.”

“Well, then I’m not worried.” Charles says easily after a brief pause in which Sean receives Looks from Magneto, Alex, and Angel.

“Where is Avalanche?” Erik asks, choosing to move on.

“Inside.” Alex answers.  “He wanted everything to be, er, perfect since you’re finally bringing Professor X to the base.”  He smirks at Charles.

“He’s freaking out.” Sean edits, with a half-laugh.  Meeting Avalanche had been borderline hilarious, and Sean hadn’t even been on any form of recreational drugs at the time.  All that nervous energy had been quite a sight.  “So go easy on him, Prof.”

“I’ll certainly do my best.” Charles says lightly, but all joking aside, Sean isn’t too sure he likes the spark of _whatever_ that is that has lit up in the Professor’s eyes.

Erik looks like he’s resisting rolling his eyes.  “See that Azazel reports to me after he’s done with your equipment,” he says to Hank, before steering Charles towards the wide doors of the base, saying, “Let me show you around, Charles.”

“Magneto’s been _dying_ to get the Professor here ever since he built the place.” Angel says with a grin as they watch the pair disappear inside.  “ _Mis novios favoritos_.”

Hank mumbles something about appropriateness and privacy.

“I’m going to pretend I know what the fuck you just said,” Sean tells Angel with a grin, “and then I’m gonna add that Magneto is the most paranoid bastard I’ve ever met and he’s probably so smug right now that he was right that we were attacked by the CIA.”

“Lean some Spanish, _cholo_.” Angel says, but there’s a small degree of fondness in her voice.  Sean was the first to forgive her after she came back.  It helped that while he didn’t exactly understand why she’d taken off with Shaw in the first place, he’d never actually blamed her for Darwin’s death.  Sean dislikes that it happened, but Darwin had made the choice on his own to step forward to try and protect Angel.  She hadn’t pushed him into the way like Sean half-suspects Alex chooses to believe.

Besides, she’d more than made up for it in helping get the Professor back, and that made her alright in Sean’s book.

“The Professor had been saying for a couple weeks that he’d been expecting an attack,” Hank points out, “every time he used Cerebro he’d check up on the CIA and he was pretty sure they were planning something.”

“Yeah, and he told us ‘sometime later this week.’” Alex says.  “And that was yesterday afternoon.  Six hours later, we’re getting shot at.”

“They had helmets.”  Hank shrugs.  “Obviously they knew how to throw the Professor for a loop.”

“C’mon, man,” Sean says to Hank after a heavy pause, feeling the need to lighten the mood, “you need a grand tour of this crazy place too, and we’ve got plenty of time before Azazel gets back to help move your shit.  But I am a _way_ cooler tour guide than Erik.”

“Why do I feel like you’re going to get us lost?” Alex asks, but he’s grinning.

“Hey, you were on the same tour that Angel gave earlier,” Sean says, beckoning for them all to follow him towards the base carved into the side of the mountain, “so if I get us lost, you can get us found.”

 

X

 

Erik doesn’t remember the exact day they end up in bed together.  He blames this entirely on Charles and how he’s sure that the telepath is ruining him in increments.  All he knows that at some point during their road trip across the country there is a great amount of laughing and swapping stories (“You don’t have to share anything with me if you don’t want to, my friend”—but Erik had found that he _wanted_ to, at least some of the very few good stories he possessed) and getting a feel of one another and successful recruiting and unsuccessful recruiting  and then _something else_ that all led up to a rainy night in some small, out of the way town where the thing in Erik’s chest gives one final waver and then it is gone completely and he suddenly _knows_.

He looks up across the tiny room that’s theirs for the evening at Charles, who’s pulling the plastic blinds closed for the night, hair still damp from their short run through the rain from the car to the room, and Charles seems to feel the weight of Erik’s gaze all on his own, no telepathy required, because he pauses for half a moment, still overextended in his reach for the cord, before he corrects his posture and turns around to face Erik, blue eyes inquisitive and clear.

Erik doesn’t feel a wisp of telepathy.  Over the past few days Charles has gotten more comfortable with using his power on Erik; a small comment here and there about the mutant they’re interviewing or picking up on the most basic of Erik’s surface thoughts when Erik directs them towards Charles, which always earns him a grin, as if Charles still can’t quite believe that Erik’s letting him in, even that little bit.  He never pushes the boundaries that Erik has set, even during their most spirited debates that range from literature to politics (and which sometimes leave Erik grinding his teeth to prevent himself from grinding Charles’ smug face into the pavement, equal parts frustrated yet gratified to have someone to share opinions with).

But tonight, right here, right now in this moment, Erik doesn’t feel a thing from Charles—he’s been allowed his space to think this through, and Erik is fairly certain he’s finished with thinking.

He moves across the room, unaware that he’s making all the metal in the room vibrate until the corners of Charles’ lips quirk upwards in mild amusement.  By that time Erik’s already right in front of him and Erik huffs out an exasperated breath before kissing him.

Charles is warm and opens for him at once, letting Erik into his mouth as soon as Erik applies the right kind of pressure.  Erik is gentle at first, wary, unsure of whether or not he’s on the edge of rejection because he knows what _he_ wants but not what _Charles_ wants, but Charles is responding, responding well, he likes this, he wants this too—

Erik has him pressed back against the wall without really meaning to, and when he experimentally slips a knee between Charles’ legs before slowly grinding up, Charles jerks against him and lets out a moan that goes straight to Erik’s cock.

He pulls back a little to take in Charles’ face.  He’s flushed and panting lightly from the kiss, his pupils completely blown wide as his hands scrabble for purchase when Erik shifts his knee up again, enjoying the strangled sound that escapes from the telepath’s lips.  Whereas before Erik couldn’t feel Charles’ power at all he now has a dull awareness, a sort of echo effect that’s amplifying everything, every little sensation, and very suddenly Erik wants _more_.

“Charles Xavier,” Erik asks with a predatory grin, right against Charles’ lips, “what’s it like for you to lose control?”

“N-never have before,” Charles gasps out, and then whimpers when Erik grinds up again, fisting his hands into Erik’s shirt as he jerks forward again helplessly, desperate for more friction.

“Oh, my friend.”  Erik chuckles, dropping one hand down to run along the inside of Charles’ thigh, tantalizingly close to where he knows Charles _really_ wants his hand to be.

“Get on with it.” Charles snaps, crumbling at last, his desperation bleeding through even with his telepathy that’s starting to leak out more and more around the edges, which Erik finds fascinating.  “ _Fuck_ me, Erik.”

“I,” Erik says, leaning in close so that Charles’ next whimper is right in his ear, “am going to _wreck_ you.”

 

X

 

Charles is impressed with the base so far, right up until Erik leads him into their private quarters and he sees the massive, intricate bedframe.  It’s metal.

“You fuck.”  Charles folds his arms.

Erik’s already smirking, the first one he’s worn since they’ve arrived.  “I thought it was a nice touch.”  He reaches up to pull the helmet off, and Charles is purposefully bombarded with very detailed, specific thoughts.

“That’s the only reason you’ve been wheedling me to come down here for three years now, isn’t it?” Charles asks, unimpressed.  He can’t lie entirely, though, because that last idea Erik sent _did_ look very promising…Nevertheless, he plows on.  “Not because you actually wanted me to see your little construction plans, or god forbid that you were worried for something so _trivial_ as our safety—”

Erik laughs, and even now it remains as Charles’ favorite sound on the entire planet.  “Honestly, Charles,” he drawls, dropping the helmet on the edge of the bed and stepping forward gracefully to settle his hands on the telepath’s shoulders, “I’m almost beginning to think you don’t like it.”

“You put more time and energy into that than the entire rest of the base, didn’t you?” Charles asks dryly, the tension in his shoulders he hadn’t known was there in the first place draining away as Erik massages the muscles there.

“I’m not happy to be right, you know.”  Erik murmurs instead, dropping his head down so that their foreheads touch.  “You wear smug much better than I.”

“If I were so inclined to still contain optimism, I’d point out that we think it’s ultimately Shaw who organized the attack on the mansion, not the humans.”  Charles unfolds his arms so he can wind them around Erik’s body instead, reaching up to sink his fingers into Erik’s hair.

“Charles.”  Erik’s voice has gotten tight, even as his hands slip down from Charles’ shoulders to settle at his waist.  Charles knows that Erik doesn’t like it when he points out the discrepancies between how he was before and how he is now.

Personally, it leaves Charles numb.  There used to be weeks where he’d nearly destroyed himself, trying to reconcile that he _knows_ he shouldn’t hate humans, _knows_ he never hated humans before, and yet now feels as if he should waste no time in destroying them all.  He’d make himself sick over it, his still-mild disposition ( _thank god thank god thank god he didn’t touch that too_ ) literally at war with his newly cold, brutal logic.

And then one day he’d stopped.

“No use crying over spilt milk, love.” He says now, running his fingers through Erik’s hair slowly.  It’d been pressed down because of the damn helmet so Charles fluffs it up again.  “I have you to remind me how I’m supposed to be.”  He smiles bitterly.  “You can be as smug as you’d like, I’ll hardly disagree.”

Erik grits his teeth.  “As gratifying as it is to have you agree with me, Charles,” he growls, “I hope you understand when I say that this isn’t the way I wanted to make you see.”  Underneath, his thoughts go _stillloveyounomatterwhat_.

“Of course I understand.” Charles says placidly, because he can still conceptualize that.  Silently, he whispers, _You do so much for me that it isn’t fair._

“Don’t get me started on fair.” Erik warns, his grip tightening for a moment before he lets go, lifting his head so that he can peer into Charles’ eyes.  “Because that is one argument I _will_ win, I don’t give a damn about how you feel about it.”

Charles gives him an icy look, but doesn’t push the subject.  At least he and Erik can still agree to disagree in _some_ areas, so he’ll take what he can get.  “I have yet to meet any of your subordinates, Erik.”  He can sense their minds throughout the building, but he’s been resisting the urge to dive into them.

At that Erik sighs.  “Well, I’ve shown you the living quarters.  It’s about time you’ve see the real purpose of this base.”  He pauses, surveying Charles seriously.  “Are you sure?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand the question.” Charles replies lightly, though he already has an idea of what Erik means.

“All these years, you’ve kept out of Brotherhood business.” Erik says, still watching him closely.  “You’ve wanted no part of it.  But now, Charles, if I show you the rest of this base, I don’t think you’ll be able to back out.  You won’t be able to hold back from any of this anymore.”

Charles smiles up at him, eyes half-lidded.  “Well it’s all or nothing, isn’t it?” he asks calmly, reaching up to brush his knuckles against Erik’s cheek.  “It’s Shaw or nothing,” he adds coldly, but his smile stays as he watches resolution click into place in Erik’s eyes.  “No more hiding.”

“We will kill him.” Erik says roughly, and Charles can taste how much Erik wants it.

“My friend,” Charles says gently, “we will _decimate_ him.”

 

X

 

Charles remembers the exact day they end up in bed together.  It’s a Tuesday during their recruiting trip, in the middle of an impressively-sized thunderstorm that has them stopping early for the evening, so it’s only 6:18 pm by the time they check into a hotel.  Charles grins delightedly when Erik unlocks their room without touching the key from the front desk and heads in first, tossing his bag onto the bed closest to the window because he knows Erik prefers sleeping closer to the door.

He’s been attracted to Erik ever since he first felt the other man’s mind off the coast of Miami, and he’s wanted to sleep with Erik ever since he allowed Charles to communicate with him telepathically after the first Cerebro session.  He also knows that Erik has slowly been working up to the same realization—it’s been hidden there all along, and Charles catches bits and pieces of it underneath Erik’s thoughts whenever the metallokinetic allows their minds to touch.

For once in his life, Charles reckons, he does something right and leaves it alone, allowing Erik to come around on his own terms.  There’s no point in pushing for the inevitable.

He’s half-aware of Erik coming into the room behind him, and Charles busies himself with closing the blinds.  There’s a diner on the corner half a block away that they can go to for dinner, maybe the rain will die down a little so they can duck back out to the car, or better yet, just walk—

Charles is suddenly hyperaware of the fact that every single iota of Erik’s attention has settled on him, and everything in the room is silent and still.

Charles straightens and turns back to face Erik, hardly daring to breathe.  Erik is considering him intently, unblinking, and there is nothing in the world Charles wants more than to read Erik’s mind and see what he’s thinking but he holds himself back, waiting.

All the metal in the room starts to vibrate as Erik moves across the room towards him and Charles can’t help but smile, because it’s so very like Erik and everything about him, which is what Charles wants.  And then Erik is in front of him, so close but not yet close enough, and he’s looking down at Charles with exasperation but there is also fondness, and while Charles is plenty well-acquainted with exasperation—it’s Raven’s favorite standby—he hasn’t seen this level of fondness since—

Erik kisses Charles, and it’s a good thing he’s also practically holding Charles up because Charles is weak-kneed with giddy relief and all he can think is _finally, finally, finally_.

By the third kiss, Charles is beyond desperation.  Erik seems intent on making good on his threat to wreck him, pulling Charles’ jacket off even as he deepens their kiss, tossing it backwards haphazardly before his hands immediately return, one tugging at Charles’ tie while the other rucks his shirt up, seeking out skin.

Charles jolts and groans as Erik runs his fingertips up his stomach and then chest, doing his best to press forward into the touch.  Erik drops his mouth down to press an open-mouthed kiss to Charles’ neck before he begins to _suck_ , and Charles practically throws his head back to hit the wall with a loud thump, squeezing his eyes shut.

By now Erik has gotten his tie loose and he yanks it off, letting it fall as he gets to work on the buttons of Charles’ shirt, growling, “Why do you wear all these complicated _layers_?”

“I don’t know,” Charles mumbles in a rush, his own hands going for the hem of Erik’s shit, pulling it up and over Erik’s head.  Erik’s body is toned to perfection, and Charles might want to lick every inch of him.

“Fuck it.” Erik snaps, fed up with the buttons, and rips Charles’ shirt the rest of the way open, pulling it down off the telepath’s shoulders and letting it go the same way as the tie and jacket.

Charles laughs breathlessly, which turns into a startled gasp as Erik manhandles him onto the nearest bed, shoving him down onto his back and fumbling with his belt.  Charles kicks off his shoes and scoots further back on the bed, which Erik allows, snapping open his buckle and using his powers to do away with the button and zipper as he lifts one hand to spit into.

“ _Erik_.” Charles chokes out when Erik’s hand slips down to wrap around his already hard cock.  He tries to rock his hips up, but Erik’s free hand has come down to splay possessively across his waist, holding him down.

“Let me see you,” Erik answered, dragging his hand down the length of Charles’ cock, “let me see you, Charles.”  _Every part of you_.  He’s stroking Charles steadily now, his hand thick and warm and _perfect_.

Charles moans, and latches onto Erik with his telepathy, returning every single sensation that he’s feeling until it’s rebounding between them.  Erik’s hand speeds up even as he groans, and they’re both breathing heavily now, pants filling the room.  Charles is writhing beneath Erik, franticly trying to work his hips in time with Erik’s hand but Erik holds him steady, driving him mad with need and want.  He feels like he is being swallowed by his own sensations and the echoes of ones he’s catching from Erik, and it’s mildly embarrassing that it’s so soon but he’s getting close now, so close—

He whimpers when Erik suddenly releases him, withdrawing his hand.  Erik is too busy yanking Charles’ pants and underwear down the rest of the way, and then fumbling with his own belt.  Charles can only watch breathlessly, cock heavy and leaking, as Erik strips them both down, kicking their clothes off the end of the bed.  He goes a little cross-eyed upon seeing Erik fully exposed at last—the metal-bender is huge, but Charles has never _wanted something_ more in his entire _life_.

Charles throws his head back against the pillows as Erik pushes his legs apart and settles over him, dipping his head down to lick at the hollow between Charles’ collarbones as they settle together, skin-to-skin.  Erik’s weight over him is warm and encompassing, and his tongue is doing amazing, wicked things and Charles feels dizzy from pure _feeling_ —

 _Have you done this before?_   Erik’s thoughts whisper through the warm haze as he lifts his head again to take Charles’ mouth again.  He grinds his hips down against Charles, and the telepath’s breath hitches.

 _Yes_ , Charles manages to say back, wrapping his arms up around Erik’s back and dragging his nails up and down his spine, making him shudder deeper into the kiss.  _Yes, oh god, Erik, yes, just—_

 _Good._   Erik catches Charles’ lower lip between his teeth, and raises one hand.  Charles is half-aware of the sound of Erik’s bag unzipping from across the room, and then a jar shoots out and smacks into Erik’s hand.  He lifts his head, looking down at Charles through half-lidded eyes, cloudy with lust.  “Relax for me, _liebling_.”

Erik preps him so gently that Charles is sobbing by the time he’s added a third finger, twisting them until Charles sees stars, gasping out Erik’s name as the metallokinetic whispers encouragements both silently and aloud.  Charles is dimly aware that his telepathy has come _loose_ ; he feels frazzled at the edges and he’s probably projecting every last one of his thoughts straight to Erik but the metal-bender seems to _love_ it, murmuring, “Don’t hold yourself back, Charles, not with me.”

“If you don’t bloody get inside me right now— _a-ah_!” Charles cries out when Erik’s fingers twist again.

Erik is grinning, pleased with himself.  His hair is plastered down to his forehead with sweat, and he leans down to nip at Charles’ throat as he slides his fingers out.  Charles whines at the empty feeling of loss, but Erik is already hiking up his legs, positioning them better.

There’s a moment of stillness where they stare at each other, eyes locked, and Charles has never felt so connected to one single person ever before.  Erik’s thoughts light up like beacons, and Charles is sure that they’re breathing in tandem, hearts pounding together, and Erik slides home into Charles with one smooth thrust that nearly makes Charles come right then and there, moaning together.  Erik doesn’t give him time to catch his breath, rolling his hips once before setting up a steady, relentless rhythm as Charles scrabbles for purchase against the sweat-soaked sheets so he can match Erik, his breath hitching with every thrust.

His telepathy is _crackling_ between them, setting up an endless loop of fucking and being fucked, and neither of them takes very long to come undone; too worked up and too lost in each other and a myriad of thoughts and feelings and _everything_ that Charles is amplifying between them, so much so that it’s hard for Charles to tell where he ends and Erik begins.

They come together, Charles shaking apart beneath Erik with a cry, splattering their stomachs with white, while the metal-bender buries his face into Charles’ neck and buries himself to the hilt, coming deep into the telepath.  They’re both panting, and Charles basks bonelessly in the waves of his own afterglow as well as the waves of it coming from Erik.

Erik is still looking down at him, really looking, and suddenly they’re laughing, tired and winded, but grinning at each other with unguarded fondness, and Erik reaches up gently to brush Charles’ sticky hair off his forehead tentatively, the gesture so tender and careful that Charles feels as if his heart might burst if he experiences any more raw emotion.

Erik promised to wreck him, but little does he know that Charles has been wrecked for Erik from the start.


	4. It's going to be alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For what it's worth, I wrote this chapter first.

Charles screams when his ribs snap, losing all coherence for several minutes as he’s consumed by pain, thrashing on the table as Shaw looks on dispassionately.  The drugs are enhancing it, spreading it like wildfire all the way down to the tips of his toes and fingers, his arms and legs twitching uncontrollably.  He chokes off his scream with a whimper, half-aware of wetness on his face.  _Breathe.  Breathe.  Breathebreathebreathedon’tthinkaboutit—_

“Fascinating.”  Shaw says, and Charles can feel the horrible weight of his interest.  “You telepaths really _are_ all about mind over matter.  Of course you are.”  He chuckles to himself, and steps out of Charles’ line of sight.

Charles lays still, eyes glazed.  _Only two broken ribs, pull yourself together_.  His heart is racing almost painfully fast, pumping the drugs through his system.  Better him than the others.  Better him than Raven, than _Erik_ —

Erik will come.  The rest of his thoughts may be scattered and muddled and completely disjointed even to himself, but in that moment Charles is struck by one clear thought of certainty—Erik will come.

Charles takes a deep, shuddering breath—that hurts, makes his ribs twinge and his vision blur, but he pushes the sensations away—and focuses on that one absolute truth.  Erik will come for him.

He _has_ to.

Because otherwise, there is no way out.

 

X

 

Introducing Charles to Avalanche goes about as well as Erik could hope for.

He still puts it off for as long as he can, taking Charles on the long route to the conference room.  All jokes about their bedroom aside, Erik is rather proud of this base as a whole.  He’s carved it into the side of the mountain himself with his ability, and while the process of figuring out what and what not to do throughout the project had taken him three grueling weeks, he manages to take the entire thing in stride and views it as a learning experience—he’s come a long way in learning how to control his power.  Judging by the way Charles is rebounding Erik’s contentment in a feedback loop of warmth, the telepath is just as proud.

“Azazel transported all the materials in, of course.” Erik adds as they draw close to the conference room door.  “Otherwise it would resemble a rather crude cave instead.”

“It’s still a cave,” Charles assures him, but his tone is light and teasing, “but a lovely cave all the same.”

Erik rolls his eyes for Charles’ benefit, reaching up to run a hand through his hair.  It feels odd to be walking through the halls here without its familiar weight on his head.  Originally he’d wanted to put the helmet back on before leaving their bedroom, but Charles had stopped him.

“I need it here.” Erik says to him.  “I trust you, but I don’t trust Psylocke.”  Psylocke is a telepath he recruited to the Brotherhood a year ago.  She is devoted to the cause, but there is still only one telepath Erik allows in his head and it isn’t her.

“Darling, if Psylocke so much as thinks about reading your mind, I assure you that I will destroy hers.” Charles replies idly, but Erik knows a threat when he hears one.  “You know I hate the helmet.  I understand why you would wear it before, but now you have me.  And I,” he adds with a smirk, “am far superior.”

“No destroying minds.” Erik says, but he’s convinced, and the helmet remains on the bedspread when they leave the room.

Avalanche is waiting in the conference room when they enter, and as soon as he sees Erik he snaps to attention.  If he’s surprised to see Erik without the helmet, he hides it well.  “Sir.”  His gaze darts to Charles.  “Professor.”

“Dominic Petrakis.”  Charles observes, and Erik knows _that_ tone of voice.  The telepath drifts forward into the room, studying Avalanche with near-morbid fascination.  “Oh, you don’t answer to that name anymore?  Then why do you still think of yourself as Dominic?”

Avalanche’s gaze darts to Erik nervously, but Erik merely arches a brow and takes a seat at the head of the table.  He doesn’t exactly approve of Charles pulling information out of his subordinates’ minds, but he’s not exactly going to stop him, either.  At least not until he gets dangerous.

“Avalanche, Professor Charles Xavier.” Erik says instead.  “My highest advisor.”  That gets him a wave of amusement from Charles, but it’s also detached, as if Charles is only half-paying attention.

“It’s an honor, Professor.” Avalanche manages to get out.  Whatever Charles is doing is making the man sweat, a light sheen visible on his forehead.

“Oh, the pleasure is mine, surely.” Charles says absently.

Erik watches them both critically for a moment.  He wonders if Avalanche is putting up any kind of resistance—not that it would work, not against Charles—or if Charles can slice through him easily as tissue paper.  It’d be interesting to know, after all, seeing as they’ve got enemies like Emma Frost.

“Generation of seismic waves, then?” Charles muses aloud.  “That must be where the name _Avalanche_ comes from.  Yes, well done.  You’re quite loyal to Erik—ah, my mistake, you call him Magneto.  Yes, that’s good.  If you weren’t, well, that doesn’t bear thinking about.”

Erik hides a smirk.  The thing about Charles is that he’s—for the most part—perfectly civil with his telepathy when it comes to Erik, Alex, Hank, Sean, Angel, and the children.  He doesn’t pry, unless invited, and when he is he’s careful and nearly undetectable.  Anyone else, however, appears to be free sport.

“Remember I need him, Charles.” Erik says at last after Avalanche gives a particularly pained wince.

“Oh yes, of course.”  Charles sits down in the chair to Erik’s right.

Avalanche slumps, throwing out one hand to catch himself on the edge of the table as he pants lightly.  “I hope the base meets your expectations, Professor.”

“Exceeds them.” Charles assures him pleasantly.

“Make your report, Avalanche.”  Erik says deliberately, taking back control of the conversation.  He figures that Charles has made his point.

“Sir.” Avalanche straightens, adjusting himself.  “We’ve gathered several intelligence reports for you to look over—nothing urgent.  Since yesterday, we’ve located three new mutants and were able to recruit two of them successfully.  The third had no interest in our cause and had abilities of little consequence regardless.  The two we did recruit have been initiated into the training program as of this morning.”

“Good.”  Erik makes a mental note to swing by the training grounds with Azazel later.  “We have a new scientist on the base who goes by the name Beast.  With his and Charles’ help, recruiting will soon become far more efficient.”

Avalanche blinks, but avoids looking at Charles.  “That’s good news, sir.”

 _Cerebro?_   Charles is a warm presence in his mind, nothing at all like what Avalanche must have experienced.

 _If you’re willing_ , Erik thinks back.  Charles only used Cerebro before to seek out younger mutants; mutants that had no place in joining the Brotherhood yet.  But now that he’s here…

 _Seems reasonable_.  Charles answers.  _I’ll have to earn my keep somehow_.

Erik mentally scoffs.  _You’re worth more to me than all the rest of them, Charles_.  This is true.  Charles by his side is something he’s wanted ever since he’d founded the Brotherhood four years ago.

Charles merely sends him a feeling of warm pleasure, a small smile toying at the corners of his mouth.

“I’ll go through those intelligence reports now, Avalanche,” Erik says aloud, realizing that the third mutant in the room is watching them warily, unused to having to endure his and Charles’ silent conversations, “and in the meantime, gather everyone else.  We have a few things to discuss.”

“Right away, sir.”  Avalanche hands over the appropriate files and then practically flees from the room.

“I don’t suppose we got off on the wrong foot, hm?” Charles muses once he’s gone, and Erik can’t help but laugh.

 

X

 

Instead of heading straight back to the CIA base as soon as they finally return to DC, Charles insists that they stop on Capitol Hill.  Erik wastes no time in parking the car.  He’s not entirely looking forward to reuniting with all the suits, but at this point he’s also entirely on board with whatever Charles wants to do.

Twenty minutes later they’ve made a leisurely walk over to the Lincoln Memorial, and Erik listens to Charles spout off facts about America’s sixteenth President before they settle down on the steps outside with a game of chess between them, though neither one of them is trying very hard to win.  Listening to all of Charles’ hopes and dreams for the future makes Erik feel dangerously peaceful, so he can’t help but draw him back to reality a little.  Charles only smiles, as if he knows exactly what Erik is doing.

Four hours later they finally make it back to the base to find that the team of mutants they’ve assembled is getting on swimmingly, much to Charles’ delight.  Erik thinks they’re all so young.

Two hours later Moira calls Erik and Charles aside and tells them that they’ve received info on Shaw.  Erik can feel all of his nerves humming on edge as she briefs them on the mission that the CIA has scrambled to put together.  Shaw is in Russia.  They leave in an hour.  Under the table, Charles reaches over to squeeze his hand.  This does not stop Erik from vetoing the decision to bring along any of the other mutants after they find the children literally hanging from the ceiling.

Fifteen hours later Erik holds very still as two Russian soldiers stare blankly into the back of the truck and declare it empty, all while ten American soldiers stare back, guns leveled, and Charles’ brow furrows in concentration as he holds two fingers to his temple.  He collapses back down onto the bench as soon as the door slams shut and Erik claps him on the leg, making sure Charles catches how impressed he is.  Charles responds with a wave of warmth that banishes the cold from Erik for the rest of the drive.

Thirty minutes later it is very apparent that Shaw _isn’t_ showing up, but Erik will take what he can get and goes after Frost—she’s his right-hand woman.  Charles follows him, and for a split second in the aftermath, Erik thinks of him as his right-hand man.

One hour later they get the call that Angel is gone, and Darwin is dead.

Eleven hours later they’re back on the ground in the United States, and Charles ducks through the rubble to hug Raven.  Erik looks at the children who are no longer children and knows what has to be done.  Convincing Charles doesn’t take much, and even better, he says he has a place for them to go.

Five hours later they’re standing outside what has to be the biggest house Erik has ever seen, and Charles invites them all inside, telling them that his home is theirs.  Erik can’t help the snide comment that falls from his lips that Raven quickly rebukes before she changes the subject, but Erik doesn’t miss the weary, self-deprecating smile Charles gives instead of answering.

One month later Erik finds that he’s fallen into a routine—dangerous, too dangerous to form things like _habits_ —but he couldn’t be more satisfied.  He’s watched Charles encourage, poke, prod, and shape Alex, Hank, and Sean in each of their respective mutations, and Erik himself has been pushing Raven to the limits of her own.  Erik is reminded of _family_ , especially when he looks at Charles (especially when he spends his nights with Charles), and he knows that soon they’ll be ready to take on Shaw.  Moira is with them, and she keeps close tabs on the wires, waiting to hear Shaw’s name.  It’s only a matter of time, because the whole world seems to be holding its breath.

One day later, they climb to the top of the satellite dish.

 

X

 

Sean has to admit, this base is pretty swanky.  When he says as much aloud, Angel laughs and Alex snorts while Hank rolls his eyes.

“You’re such a dork, Sean.”  Alex adds for good measure.

“Haven’t you already seen all of this anyway?”  Hank asks.

“Um.  Hello.”  Sean gestures around them with a wide, sweeping motion.  They’re standing in the empty cafeteria.  On second thought, Sean isn’t sure why they’re showing Hank the cafeteria, because he rarely left his lab in the mansion to sleep, let alone eat, and Sean fails to see how being here will change any of Hank’s ways.  “Do you see this place?  Are you looking?  Angel, you’re not looking.”

“I’ve lived here longer than you, _chico_ ,” Angel says with another laugh, “so no, I’m not looking at something I see every other week.”

“It’s a _freaking_ cafeteria!  In a building in the side of a mountain!”  Sean’s voice rises higher in pitch, threatening to go supersonic.  “We’re like, here illegally!  Illegal aliens!”

“Don’t worry,” Alex deadpans, “I’m sure it’s on the top of Magneto’s agenda, getting us all passports.”

Sean merely laughs.  “Dude, I am like not worried at _all_.”

Hank sighs.  He’s clearly had enough of this, but Sean thinks he’s clearly still not looking.  “As, uh, _swanky_ as this all is, do any of you know where Magneto wanted me to set up my lab?”

“Probably in the lower levels,” Angel guesses, “that’s where a lot of storage is but I think Magneto’s been keeping some space clear for you.”

“He’s wanted to move us here for a while, hasn’t he?”  Hank observes quietly.

“Alex?”  A voice calls from the entrance to the cafeteria.

“Scotty, what the hell are you doing out of class?”  Alex shifts from his position leaned against the wall casually, heading over to his brother at once.  “You shouldn’t be wandering around here.  This isn’t the mansion anymore.”  Sean might puke if Alex sounds anymore authoritative-protective-brotherly.  This is _Alex_ , the dude he steals alcohol from the Professor with on Friday nights.  Still, Sean likes Scott, he’s a cool kid.  Sean also likes to tell Alex that Scott got all the good looks in the Summers family.  So far, Sean’s only been punched twice.

Secretly, Sean still thinks it was fucking _magical_ of Erik and the Professor to help find and bring Scott home.  Best idea they’ve ever had, hands down.

Scott frowns, presumably glaring up at Alex through his red goggles.  “I can go where I want,” he protests, “but Miss Jubilee said the bathroom was this way but I think I got lost.”

Alex ruffles his hair.  “You’re on the right track, buddy.  I’ll show you.”  The Summers brothers head back out into the hallway.

“Is it fair of you to dump the children on this Jubilee person?” Hank wonders.

“Dude, Jubilee is like perfect for kids.”  Sean says.  “She’s totally got this.”  Truth be told, he’s a little relieved to get more help with the kids.  It’s not that they’re a handful, and he totally gets why the Professor keeps his distance and stays the _fuck_ away, but Sean still sometimes feels like he’s still a kid too, and taking care of a bunch of other kids is a pretty big responsibility.  Good thing he had lots of siblings, or otherwise starting out would’ve been a nightmare.

Hank doesn’t exactly look ready to take Sean’s word for it, but at that moment Azazel warps into the room next to them.

“Azazel my man.” Sean greets him.  He gets a light tap on the shoulder by the tail for his efforts.

“Heya Az,” Angel says, “Magneto and the Prof got in about an hour ago.”

The red mutant nods.  “Your equipment is still in the Blackbird, yes?” he asks Hank.

“Yes,” Hank says at once, “and if you’re up for moving it now, I’d be—”

“Let’s go.”  Wisely, Azazel interrupts him, offering him a hand.

“Azazel!”  Avalanche sticks his head into the room.  “You’re back just in time.  Magneto called a meeting.  Angel, you’d better come too.”

“Your equipment will have to wait, comrade.”  Azazel says to Hank wryly.

“Hey, what about us?” Sean asks.  If Magneto’s called a meeting, he wants in.  Especially after what Alex told him earlier, about the attack on the mansion and how Magneto and the Prof think it was Shaw.

Avalanche blinks.  “Well—”

“You should come.” Angel interrupts him.  She’s already holding Azazel’s hand, and reaches to grab Sean’s.  She was there earlier too, and she gives Sean and Hank a meaningful look.  “I’m sure the Professor wants us all there.”

“Alex will be pissed if we don’t tell him,” Hank says, “I’d better wait for him.”

“I’ll come back.” Azazel says with a shrug.

“Peace, dude.” Sean says to Avalanche with a grin, and then the whole world twists as Azazel teleports.

 

X

 

Erik is impressed by how quickly Charles scrambles up the impossibly tall ladder to the top of the satellite.  Not that he’s complaining about the climb—it’d given him a nice view of Charles’ ass.

Charles must have caught his last few thoughts, because when Erik hoists himself up onto the platform at the top, the telepath is grinning.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Erik tells him matter-of-factly, moving aside so Hank can climb up onto the platform as well.  Erik’s in a good mood.  He’d fucked Charles’ brains out twice last night and once this morning.  He would’ve made it twice this morning, too, but Charles had protested—really, what was he thinking (clearly he _wasn’t_ )—and had said something about being responsible, which apparently was synonymous with “being the first ones down to the kitchen,” all in order to start breakfast because “the children need proper nutrition, Erik, especially if you’re going to make them run laps around the house.”

Oh well.  Erik can wait.  It’ll make it all the better later tonight when he nails Charles against a wall.

Charles grins again even as he pretends to look out across the admittedly spectacular view, and this time the grin is accompanied with a mild flush.  When Hank asks him with no small concern, “Are you alright, Professor?” Charles replies with an easy, “Never better, Hank.”

Erik turns around before Hank can catch him grinning back at Charles, and looks over the edge of the platform to yell down to Sean, “Move it, Cassidy!”

Sean is still several yards down the ladder, wheezing for breath.  “This thing is like five miles tall!”

“If you’re not up here in ten seconds, I’m making you run ten miles.”  Erik says pleasantly.  “And Hank can join you.”

“Hurry up, Sean!”  Hank calls down to him, sounding a little panicky.

“Really, Erik,” Charles remarks quietly as Erik moves over to join him on the other side of the platform, leaving Hank to encourage Sean the rest of the way up, “there are better methods than threatening them, you know.”  But the corners of his mouth are twitching.

Erik keeps a straight face.  “Really, Charles,” he says, “there are more efficient methods than coddling them, you know.”

Charles makes a soft noise of disbelief, but he’s lazily broadcasting his warm contentment, his telepathy flitting easily around the edges of Erik’s mind.  He still doesn’t read Erik’s mind directly without Erik’s explicit permission, but Erik has made it clear that he doesn’t ever want Charles to shut down his gift.  Erik is proud of his mutation, and Charles should be too.

Hank is still leaned over the railing and looking down at Sean, so Erik drifts closer to Charles, settling his hand over the telepath’s where it rests lightly on the railing and together they stand still and quiet, merely basking in the other’s company.  They haven’t even known each other very long, Erik thinks, silently allowing himself to marvel, but there is something that has clicked into place between them that feels so natural and easy that Erik allows himself to have this, despite the long years of his hunt, despite the rage he still keeps carefully fueled, despite Shaw, despite everything.

“I’m going to open an academy.” Charles says, and Erik looks sideways at him.  The telepath is studying the house, quietly thoughtful, but his eyes burn with determination.  “For mutants, Erik, _think_ of the possibilities.  We can find them, teach them to use their powers, teach them to be proud of who and what they are—”

“We?” Erik interrupts him mildly, raising his eyebrows.

Charles seems to realize his near-subconscious shift in tenses, and he stumbles over his words.  Erik should not find this endearing in any way.  “Well—that is—I mean—only if you wanted to.”

Erik considers him.  “I am going to kill Shaw.”

Charles worries his lower lip between his teeth.  The past month hasn’t been argument-free, of course.  They each have their different philosophies—and half the time Charles’ make Erik want to _scream_ at him, for being so stubbornly naïve—but thankfully now Charles doesn’t say anything and lets Erik finish.

“And then—if you’ll have me—I’m not going anywhere, Charles.”

Charles smiles, and Erik will never get tired of the way his impossibly blue eyes light up like that, and Erik thinks to himself that he will make things so that Charles can keep on being stubbornly naïve, because Erik has finally found something in this world that is worth protecting.

Sean is finally clambering up onto the platform and while Hank is busy berating him about the ten miles Erik is probably actually going to make them run, Erik gently removes his hand from Charles’, but not before they share one last meaningful look.

“Welcome to the top, Mr. Cassidy,” Charles greets Sean brightly, slipping back into his teaching mode with uncanny ease, “now it’s time to see about how you’ll be getting back down, yes?”

Sean looks a little green as he comes to stand on the edge of the platform and they gather around him; Hank is nearly bursting with excitement to see if the suit he’s invented actually works, Erik’s already grinning, and Charles is focused on Sean intently, giving him his full, undivided attention.

“Remember, our theory of how this should work is really quite sound.” Charles reminds him.

“I trust you,” Sean says, pointing at Charles as if conviction alone will help him through this.

“I’m touched,” Charles assures him.

“I don’t trust him,” Sean adds, pointing to Hank.

“Say nothing,” Charles says to Hank quickly before Hank can get a word in edgewise.

Sean shifts on his feet, teetering on the edge, and reaches up to rub his face nervously.  “I’m going to _die_ ,” he says fervently, looking down the face of the satellite dish again.

“Alright, look,” Charles says, putting a hand on Sean’s elbow, “we’re not going to make you do anything you don’t feel comfortable w—”

“Here, let me help.” Erik interrupts, and pushes Sean off the platform.

 

X

 

Charles knows Psylocke the moment she walks through the door.  It would be remiss of him not to recognize a fellow telepath, after all.

She comes to a full stop, startled to see Magneto without his helmet.  This is her first mistake—her attention is so absorbed by Erik that she doesn’t think to check Charles.

Her second mistake is that she tries to read Erik’s mind.  In another life, Charles might have been able to sympathize—Erik keeping his head under tight wraps makes him an enigma to telepaths, and if there’s one thing telepaths collectively hate, it’s enigmas; so he might have been able to understand the pure instinct that is probably guiding Psylocke as she reaches out for Erik’s mind.

Unfortunately, he’s a lot less forgiving than he used to be.

He slams her down mentally, easily taking her telepathy and shoving it deeply into the recesses of her own mind so harshly that she gasps, reaching up to grab her head.  Charles is not surprised to find that his power greatly outclasses her own, and so while she’s still reeling in shock and pain, he digs a little.

 _Elizabeth Braddock_ , Charles says to her.  She flinches and he lets her raise her head a little bit so she can stare at him from beneath the curtain of her hair.  _You should always keep tabs on_ all _the minds in a room, darling.  You wouldn’t have been able to stop me, but you would’ve been able to see me coming._

 _Professor X._ Psylocke sounds equal parts awed and afraid.

 _Correct_.  Charles says calmly, and then makes her think she’s been burned.

“Charles.”  Erik murmurs when Psylocke lets out a short scream.  He’s still immersed in the intelligence reports and while his voice is absent, it also holds the distinct edge of a warning.

“Might we take tea here?” Charles asks idly.

“If you’d like.”  Erik glances up at Psylocke for the first time.  “Tell Toad to bring up a cart.”  And then he’s right back to the reports.  Charles might be a little in love with how fast Erik’s calculating mind clicks through the words.

 _I’m going to let you go,_ Charles says to Psylocke, _because I really would like some tea.  But rest assured, my dear, if you try to touch Magneto’s mind again, you will spend the rest of your life under the everlasting impression that you are a speckled trout._ He gives a slow smile at her rush of fear that she can’t quite tamp down.  _Needless to say, it would be a rather short life, you agree?_

He withdraws from her mind, and she folds down onto the floor.

“Read this.”  Erik says, holding out a sheet of paper.  “Tell me what you think.”  _Stop smearing my subordinates across the floor, please._

“Always, darling.” Charles answers, and starts to read.  _She tried to read your mind.  We established that it is mine._

 _Why,_ Erik thinks, amused, _I would have thought that would have been evident from the start._

 _Maybe I’ll paint it over your mind in neon_ , Charles says dreamily, _one would be hard-pressed to miss it_.

 _Do anything to me that involves neon_ , Erik thinks in the sort of pleasant tone that’s actually more like a false positive, _and you’ll find yourself very hard-pressed indeed_.

“I can’t tell if that means yes or no,” Charles says aloud with a smirk, “do be clearer in the future.”

“Charles,” Erik says, “read the damn report.”  His thoughts, however, clarify _exactly_ what he means, and the bedframe is heavily featured.

“I,” Charles says in answer to both, “am not opposed to that.”

 

X

 

“Erik!”  Charles shouts as Sean shrieks and falls.  Charles dives forward, gripping the railing tightly as he watches Sean plummet, heart caught in his throat.

Sean screams once, twice, and then suddenly he’s emitting sound waves so powerful that they’re nearly visible, propelling himself back up into the air.  He spreads his arms wide as he swoops past, giving a loud cry of delight.  Hank is nearly beside himself with glee as he watches Sean work his flight suit, pulling out a small pocket notebook and scribbling notes furiously.

Charles turns to Erik, and he wants to be angry, he really does, he’s just had a few years of his life scared off and he wasn’t even the one who was pushed off a satellite dish, but he’s having a hard time fighting off the grin that threatens to creep across his face.

“What?”  Erik’s almost laughing, his eyes bright.  “You _know_ you were thinking the same.” 

Sean shoots higher up into the sky in the distance but Charles only has eyes for Erik and they’re probably grinning at each other like loons but he can hardly bring himself to care—he’s standing up here with Erik at what feels like the top of the world, watching their students succeed.  Erik has promised to stay, admitting that there really is an _after_ Shaw, and Charles thinks that he’d been happy after delivering his thesis successfully but now he’s _happy_ , doing exactly what he wants with exactly who he wants.

Charles could very well kiss Erik right here and now, but he doesn’t want to startle Hank off the edge as well.  He must have projected that last bit because Erik chuckles, shaking his head with a fond, _Later_.

Still smiling, Charles turns to watch Sean swoop past in a downward dive.  He’s not really flying, as it’s more like controlled falling, but Charles isn’t about to correct Sean as he babbles in his head, _I’m flying, Professor, I’m flying I’m flying I’m really flying watch this look what I can do I’m flying!_

Charles lifts two fingers to his temple and lets his pride radiate out to the boy, replying, _Well done, Sean.  Your mutation truly is groovy._   That earns him peals of wild laughter on Sean’s next pass, just as Charles knew it would.

“And how exactly are we going to get him back on the ground again?” Erik asks dryly, but he’s still grinning softly as he watches Sean swoop.

Hank adjusts his glasses.  “Well, there’s one easy way that involves—”

A loud _poof_ , followed by a strong whiff of sulfur, and Charles feels something sharp pierce the back of his neck.

Hank gives a shout of surprise and Erik lunges forward with a snarl, his reaction time faster than Charles can comprehend and the metal of the railing screeches as it rips apart and lashes out, but there’s another _poof_ and Charles coughs as red and black smoke invades his lungs.

“Professor!  Are you alright?”  Hank’s face is white, eyes wide.

“Fine, I’m sure.” Charles says, bringing up a hand to rub at the back of his neck.  “What just happened?”

Erik grips him by the shoulders.  “Shaw’s man.  The red one.  He just did something to you, what did he do to you?”  Charles doesn’t even need telepathy to feel the tension pouring off of Erik.

“Azazel.” Hank offers shakily.

“Nothing, I don’t think.” Charles mutters, furrowing his brow.  He feels a little lightheaded, but that could just be from the sulfur he’s inhaled.

 _Professor what the hell was that, it was the red guy I saw him he’s the one who killed everyone, what the hell is he doing here?_   Sean is clumsily circling the satellite and his thoughts sound strange, as if Sean is talking to him through a wall.  _He killed everyone, Professor, how did he get here, how did he find—_

Charles stiffens when Sean’s thoughts are abruptly cut off.  His head is empty.  He draws in a ragged breath, eyes flickering between Erik and Hank.  He can’t feel them.

“Charles?”  Erik is still gripping him, peering down into his eyes.  He’s definitely felt Charles go ramrod straight, and Charles can’t imagine that his expression looks any good.  “Charles, damn it, what is it?”

“I can’t hear you.” Charles manages to get out.  He’s breathing heavily now, grappling with the sudden emptiness in his head.  It feels like it could eat him alive.  “I can’t hear _any_ of you.”

“He’s lost his hearing?” Hank asks worriedly.

Erik ignores him.  “Your telepathy?” he demands.  His grip is probably borderline bruising now, but Charles couldn’t care less.

Corpses, they’re like talking corpses.  Charles chokes back a hysterical laugh.  “Nothing, there’s nothing.  Erik, _I can’t hear your thoughts_.”

Erik hisses out a curse in German.  “Listen to me, Charles.”  He gives Charles a small shake, but his voice is low, not angry.  “It’s probably a suppressant.  It’ll wear off, alright?  Breathe for me.”  He pauses, and swallows.  “ _Alles ist gut_.”

Charles closes his eyes but nods.  He takes a deep breath.  Erik is right.  Whatever’s been done to him will fade and wear off, and he’ll be able to hear thoughts again—

He hears another _poof_ , Hank and Erik shouting as he’s jostled roughly, Sean screaming, and then something wraps around his leg and he tears his eyes open as he’s flung out into empty space.

 

X

 

Alex ushers Scott back into the classroom, ruffling his hair for good measure just because he knows it annoys the hell out of him, and then backs out quietly so that he doesn’t disturb Jubilee’s lesson.  The kids all look like they love her, gathered around and listening with rapt attention.  Even John is listening, which means Alex is impressed because that takes skills.

“Careful, Havok,” Hank says once the door shuts, “you look like you’re ready to fluff out your feathers and settle down over your brood.”

“What the fuck, Bozo, how do I even know you?”  Alex snaps, turning to stalk down the hall.  It mostly hides the fact that he’s almost grinning.  “I don’t need your weird bird analogies or whatever the hell that even was.”

“ _Analogies_ might be a big word for you.”  Hank remarks.  “And that’s Beast, to you.”

“Whatever, Hank.”  Alex rolls his eyes.

Hank falls into step beside him as they troop down the hall.  The scientist is twitchier than normal, so Alex waits.  “This is it, isn’t it?” Hank blurts out at last.

“Yeah.”  Alex nods.  There’s a tension mounting in him that has nothing to do with his power and everything to do with the fact that Erik says they’re _close_.  Alex has been waiting five years to be close—they all have.  “I still get so angry when I think about it.” He admits quietly.  “Like I want to fucking burn down the world until I get to that bastard.”

Hank nods slowly.  “Me too.  If you could believe it.”

Alex cracks a wry smile.  “You’re the Beast.  I’ve seen you get angry.”

Hank socks him in the arm, and Alex bites out a curse because that _fucking hurts_.  Hank laughs at him while Alex rubs his arm sullenly.  “In any case, you can’t burn down the world.  Scotty has to live somewhere.”

“Yeah.”  Alex admits.  It’s just another reminder of how much he owes the Professor.  Charles pulled him out of prison, brought him somewhere he actually belonged, gave him a home, helped him control his power, and found Scott.  Alex figures he needs to get his ass in gear and pay him back tenfold.

Azazel poofs into the hallway, and offers his hand.  “Come.  This is faster.”

Alex doesn’t hesitate to grip the red mutant’s hand, but he does shut his eyes when they teleport.  The whole thing makes him somewhat nauseous.

When he opens his eyes a moment later, they’re standing in the conference room.  Alex had seen it before and it’d been empty but now nearly every chair is full.  He recognizes most of the mutants sitting around the table by sight—all of Erik’s best people are here.

“Hello boys.”  Charles is sitting directly to Erik’s right, drinking tea.  Alex wants to laugh.  Of _course_ he’s drinking tea.  The atmosphere in the room, Alex notices, is undeniably tense, although Charles seems to be casually ignoring it.

He also can’t help but notice that all the other mutants in the room are looking between Alex, Hank, and Charles uneasily or outright expectantly.  Sean is two seats down, spinning around in his chair, but he catches Alex’s eye and gives a wicked grin and Alex suddenly understands.

“Hello Professor.” Hank says evenly after giving everyone watching a flat stare.  He pulls out a chair and sits down.  Alex is sort of proud of him, not that he’d ever admit it—Hank’s definitely grown into his body, in a way.

Alex makes his way around the table to sit down in the last seat available.  It also happens to be the chair between Charles and Sean.  Erik’s watching now too, and Alex knows him well enough by now to catch his wry look.  “Scotty said to tell you hi,” he offers to Charles.  Scott is one of the few children that Charles has actually met.

“You’ll have to tell him I said hello back, of course.” Charles says in his best no-nonsense voice.  He puts his cup down on the table and the metal teapot rises up from the tray and floats over to refill it.  “Ta, darling.”

Sean has literally stuffed his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing at several of the expressions around the table.  Alex may or may not be far behind him.  He wonders how many of the mutants present realize that their fearless leader is fucking the world’s strongest telepath, or if they just think that said telepath has literally melted said leader’s mind.

It’s probably closer to the later, Alex reasons.  Judging by the wary tension in the room Charles has probably already tried to turn their minds inside out, and stopped just short of actually doing so.  And Erik is just a fucking enabler.  His subordinates must be confused out of their fucking minds, and probably caught up on the fact that Magneto is sitting next to a telepath without his helmet on.  Dumbasses.

The corner of Charles’ mouth is curling upwards, so Alex is probably thinking too loud.

“Banshee, quit spinning.”  Erik leans forward to rest his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers.  Sean stops at once, sobering instantly.  When Magneto speaks, you shut the fuck up.  “I’ve called you all here because we have some things to discuss.”

Alex reads between the lines.  _You are all going to do exactly as I say_.

 _Well_ , Charles says wryly, _we wouldn’t want it any other way, would we?_

 _We’re going to kill Shaw, Professor_.  Alex thinks bluntly.  _So no, we wouldn’t.  All these assholes better step it up and get ready._

 _I’m proud of you, my boy_.  Charles says back instead.  His silent voice is cold, but Alex gets it.  He can read between the lines there too, after all— _yes, yes we are._

 

X

 

“ _Alles ist gut_.”  It takes a great amount out of him to say it, but Erik thinks that this time maybe it’ll be true.

Charles is still pale and tense in Erik’s grasp, but he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself.  Erik can’t imagine what it feels like for a telepath to have his powers suppressed; to be plunged into silence when all Charles has ever known is noise.  All Erik can do is remind him that he’s not alone, and maybe in a few minutes talk him into climbing back down to the ground.  His instincts are screaming at him; they need to check on the others, and make sure all is still normal, that nothing is amiss.

Azazel _poofs_ back onto the platform directly beside them, barreling into Erik out of thin air and knocking him a few steps backwards as Hank shouts.  Erik snarls wordlessly, still gripping onto Charles tightly but grabbing onto the metal railing again with his power, sending it screaming towards the red mutant.  This time he’ll _skewer_ the bastard—

Azazel’s tail whips forward and before Erik can figure out what he’s doing his tail has wrapped around Charles’ leg.  He gives a tremendous yank and Charles is wrenched from Erik’s grasp and thrown into midair exactly as Azazel teleports away again, just in time to avoid Erik’s railing but Erik hardly cares because _Charles_ , Charles is—

Charles is already gone from sight, plunging downwards like a stone and Erik lunges forward to the edge, dropping down hard on his stomach and reaching futilely; metal, metal, he has to be wearing something, _anything_ metal, _ohgodCharles_ —

Erik grits his teeth when his power latches on to Charles’ watch and he squeezes it tightly for all he’s worth, catching Charles in midair and stopping him short.  The telepath dangles precariously by one arm several meters below the platform, swaying slightly in the breeze.  Erik has both arms stretched down, reaching, half-aware of someone’s hands fisted in his sweatshirt, and all of his concentration is being poured down into that small piece of metal around Charles’ wrist.

“Oh my god.” Hank says weakly, and dimly Erik realizes that Hank is the one keeping him from falling off the platform as well.  Sean swoops past, yelling something that Erik can’t be bothered to try and work out at the moment.

Charles looks up at him, his face completely white.  “Oh god, _Erik_.”

“Shut up,” Erik says through his teeth.  He’s starting to sweat, his hands shaking slightly.  “I’ve got you, just shut up.”

He sees Charles’ throat work as the telepath nods.  His eyes are so very wide and so very blue.

Carefully, so carefully, Erik begins to lift him.  His arm has to hurt, and Erik is probably cutting off all circulation to his hand with how tightly Erik’s gripping the watch, but Charles remains utterly still as Erik slowly pulls him upwards, maintaining eye contact all the while.  Erik is breathing heavily, begging his control not to slip, not now when this is so important.  He stares into blue.  One meter, two meters, three meters…

 _Poof_.  Azazel is hanging onto Charles’ waist, clamping his free arm down.

Erik groans at the extra weight that Azazel adds, and Charles makes a small noise of fear as they drop back down a little ways before coming to a shaking halt as Erik struggles to compensate.  Something cold is settling into the pit of Erik’s stomach as he meets Charles’ wide blue eyes again.

“It’s alright, Erik,” Charles is saying shakily, “it’s going to be alright.”  Erik can barely hear him over the pounding in his ears.

“No.” Erik says.  Azazel’s tail is coming up again, wrapping around the telepath’s throat.  “No, it’s not, no, _Charles_ —”

“It’s alright.” Charles repeats.  His eyes are so very wide and so very blue.  “Erik.”  His telepathy is diminished.  Beyond Erik’s own screaming thoughts, Erik’s head is quiet.

Azazel grins, white teeth bright against red skin.  He teleports with one last _poof_ and very suddenly Erik is holding on to nothing, a cloud of red and black quickly fading.

Charles is gone.

Erik nearly destroys the satellite dish.


	5. I don't do pity

“Unfortunately, Professor, you’ve completely derailed my plans.”  Shaw is back, and Charles jumps.  The man can’t have even left the room, but being unable to sense Shaw’s thoughts has completely distorted the rest of Charles’ senses.  “With Emma’s help I’d hoped to pit the Russians and the Americans against each other to ignite world war.  Though I’m sure you were already aware of that.  Of course, those plans were already far enough along that I could continue forward, with or without Emma.  But I must admit that you are far more interesting to me right now.  With you, I could accomplish so much _more_.  You make Emma’s skills look like child’s play.  Together you and I wouldn’t need nuclear holocaust to bring the humans to their knees—we’d just need _you_.”

“ _Never_ —” Charles can barely speak through the drugs and pain, but mostly the _rage_ he feels, that Shaw would presume, expect him to, after all he’s done—to— “I would never—in a million years, _ever_ —I would never join _you_ or your cause or—”

“Very noble of you, Professor.”  Shaw is sticking something into Charles’ arm, a syringe that quickly drains into his bloodstream with a small sting.  “I thought you would say that.”  The bastard has the gall to sound remorseful.  “All I can really say is that it’s truly unfortunate that you think you have a choice in the matter.”

 

X

 

“We may be close to unearthing Sebastian Shaw.”  Erik gets straight to the point; he’s never been one for mincing words.  Murmurs spring up around the table, but Erik continues above them.  “For those of you who don’t know who Shaw is, he’s a mutant with the ability to absorb and redirect energy, in the simplest of terms.”

“Are we looking to recruit him?” A mutant named Quill speaks up.

Instantly the table falls silent.  Those who don’t know who Shaw is look mildly confused, but the few who do are looking steadily downwards at the table.  Charles very deliberately puts his cup of tea down, the sound abnormally loud, and that’s when Quill goes pale.

Erik merely grins.  He knows that this does not make him look friendly or encouraging.  But Quill is young, and honestly doesn’t know, so it’s excusable.  This time.

“No.” Alex snaps, breaking the silence and beating Erik to the punch line.  He’s sneering at Quill, his opinion on the other mutant clear.  “We’re going to kill him, fuckface.”

Quill instantly bristles, literally; long, sharp spines rising.  “Watch your mouth, kid—”

“Oh, right.”  Alex gives Erik a nod.  “ _Magneto’s_ going to kill him.”

“Yes, thank you, Havok.”  Charles says calmly, and Quill’s mouth snaps shut.  He doesn’t dare interrupt the telepath.  “You’re quite right.”

Everyone else is looking back at Erik now, so he nods.  “We are not looking to recruit Shaw.  He has no place among us here.  He is a man who hates humans just as we do, but he has also turned against mutants as well, which is unforgiveable.”

No one contests this.  Sean, Hank, and Alex fidgeted a little when Erik brought up humans, but he knows that all three of them are 100 percent on board when it comes to killing Shaw.  Around the table, expressions have hardened—so is everyone else.  Erik has made it clear from the beginning that in the Brotherhood, mutants are to stand together.

“Charles is here to help us track down Shaw and eliminate him.  You are all to defer to him as you would to me.”  Several nods as he speaks; message received, loud and clear.  Charles is wearing a faint, sardonic smile that doesn’t last long.  “His lieutenants are Beast, Banshee, and most of you already know Havok.”

Hank merely nods, but Sean gives a little half-wave along with a grin.  Further along the table, Angel is rolling her eyes.

“Where do we believe Shaw is now?” Avalanche asks.

“Somewhere within the continental United States.” Erik says.  “We believe that he coordinated the attack on Xavier Mansion that Angel briefed you all on earlier.  Our contact within the CIA is investigating the matter as we speak.”

“There’s no telling how long he’ll remain in the U.S. though.”  Hank speaks up.  “Once Shaw realizes that we’ve abandoned the mansion, he’ll probably cut his losses and split.”

Erik gives him a nod.  He’s been tracking Shaw for the majority of his life; he knows how the man operates.  “More than likely, you’re right.  But as hard as he’ll try, he’ll still leave traces of his presence behind.  Any kind of trail is good enough.”  Shaw doesn’t have Azazel anymore, and Emma isn’t nearly as clean as Charles is when it comes to wiping memories.  There will be traces, and Moira will be sharp enough to find them.

It’s like an itch he can’t scratch, to not be tracking Shaw himself.

Charles looks at him sidelong.  Erik ignores him.  It’s a talent of his, given that it takes considerable skill to ignore a telepath.

“As far as we know, Shaw has one ally,” he continues, “her name is Emma Frost.  Her primary mutation is telepathy and her secondary allows her to turn her body into solid crystal.  If we can capture or kill her, it will put Shaw at an enormous disadvan—”

“She isn’t to be killed.”  Charles is annoyed with him enough to interrupt him, it seems.  The telepath’s voice is thoughtful, and more than one person around the table shudders as he continues, “Not until she and I have had a little chat.”

Erik raises an eyebrow.  “Detain her, then.”  He addresses the table at large, but he doesn’t look away from Charles.  “Though use necessary precautions, her telepathy isn’t to be trifled with.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to just kill her?”  Burner speaks up, carefully respectful but also pointedly dubious.  “I’ve heard she’s at the top of the scale.”

Erik resists the strong urge to roll his eyes.  Around the world, as more mutants—and in that respect, telepaths—are discovered, there have been talks of setting up a scale of sorts to grade telepaths by, based on how strong their powers are.  Erik thinks it’s an enormous waste of time, but so far he seems to be in the minority—even mutants are wary of their telepathic brothers and sisters, regardless of what Magneto says.

“Well, Mr. Calley,” Charles says to Burner smoothly, “I can assure you that if Ms. Frost sits at the top of the scale, I break it.”  He smiles pleasantly as if several people at the table haven’t gone pale.  “Bring her to me and I will handle the rest.”

There is an uncomfortable silence that Erik lets stew for a few long moments.  Charles is taking to the Brotherhood like fire to gasoline, and while Erik might’ve been worried once, maybe, now he finds that he hardly cares—not with Shaw finally back on the radar and close to being within their sights.  Nothing else matters.

Before Erik can break the silence on his own terms, the door to the conference room opens and Toad sticks his head in, overly-long tongue flicking in and out of his mouth nervously.  “Sorry to interrupt, Boss, but we’ve got two intruders captured downstairs.”

 

X

 

“If you don’t, I’ll _make_ you.”  Charles has a bit of a manic look to his eyes, and he’s swirling the ice in the bottom of his crystal tumbler nonstop.  “And you very well know that I’m no longer afraid of doing exactly that, Erik.”

“Two years ago you would’ve been trying to talk me out of this.” Erik growls, refusing to look at him.  He stares at the fire instead, brooding and moody.  He seems to be doing that a lot lately.

“Yes, well, then I had the pleasure of meeting Sebastian Shaw,” Charles snaps, his words cutting to the bone, “and we all know how the rest of that story goes.  My point being, Erik, _I can’t be like that anymore_.  I don’t think I ever will.”

“Don’t say that.” Erik snaps right back.  They’ve been skirting around the edges of this argument for a week now, so they’re both ready to sink their claws into one another.  “Don’t you fucking give up on me, Charles, or I’ll—”

“I’m not so much giving up as coming around to _accepting_ it.”  Charles slams his tumbler down on the edge of the desk.  “It happened, alright?  Please, _please_ stop trying to act like it hasn’t, Erik, or I think I might go mad.”

Erik looks up at last when Charles’ voice threatens to crack.  The telepath is still nearly incandescent with anger, glaring at him from across the study, but beneath that Erik can see Charles’ very-real desperation.

“I’m not—” He has to stop and swallow, his voice thick.  “I’m not acting like it never happened.”

Charles’ shoulders slump.  “Yes you are.  You are constantly comparing me to how I used to be, as if you think that if you compare enough, think of the old me enough, it’ll be like this never happened and I’ll somehow revert back.  I don’t know what you _want_ , Erik.”  He spreads his hands wide, then lets them drop helplessly.  “Before all I ever heard from you was how naïve I was, how _foolish_ , but now it seems that you’d prefer me better if I still was.”

“Of course I still wish you’d never been touched by Shaw!”  Erik explodes, standing and whirling around to face Charles fully.  “You think I’d ever _want_ that for you?  That I’d be glad that you’ve—that you’ve _what_ , finally learned your _lesson_?”  The undoubtedly expensive lamp on the side table implodes in on itself with a loud crunch.

Charles’ mouth twists, but his eyes are pure ice.  “That’s not what I’m getting at, Erik.”

“Then _what_ , pray tell?” Erik snarls, flinging out an arm and with another crunch of metal the lamp fills out again, though crudely.  “Enlighten me, Charles, tell me what I’m thinking.  You’re so very good at that.”

Charles exhales noisily, but he doesn’t rise to Erik’s latest bait.  “I’m not giving up.  But I’m not going to just sit here, and neither are you.  Maybe there’s a chance that I can—that I can be fixed.  Maybe there isn’t.  But the both of us can’t just put everything on hold, be afraid to _breathe_ the wrong way because we think it’s not something I would’ve done.”  He pauses, and now he just sounds tired.  “This is how it is now.  This is me.  Right here.  So which is it, Erik?  A memory, or me?”

Erik stares at him, breathing heavily.  The silence in the study is broken only by the gentle crackling and popping of the fire, and it feels almost too warm in the room.  Finally his shoulders sag.  “Goddamn  it, Charles, you.  It’s always you.  It’s always _been_ you.”  He moves around the couch, crossing the room to stop in front of the telepath.  “What would you have me do?”

“Start your Brotherhood.”  Charles answers softly, head tilted back slightly so that he’s looking up at Erik with clear, blue eyes.  “Do what _you_ want to do, not what you think I would’ve wanted you to.”

“And you?”  Erik asks.  He brings one hand up to trace Charles’ jawline with a feather light brush of fingertips.  “I can start the Brotherhood, but that doesn’t mean I can’t stop you from joining.”

“I don’t see why you’d bother,” Charles says with a sigh, “it’s not like I disagree anymore.  With the, ah…values.  That you’d be preaching.”

“Charles,” Erik warns.

“You’re doing it again.”

It’s Erik’s turn to sigh.  “Look.  It’s not a matter of whether I—whether I prefer you as you were then or are now.  As far as that goes, it makes little difference to me.  I’ll always prefer you.”

That draws out a small, reluctant smile.  Charles must have been knotting himself up for weeks thinking that Erik loved him better one way.  Erik is slightly miffed—it should have been _clear_.  He’s a _telepath_ , for god’s sake.

Nevertheless, that’s something that can be settled later, preferably involving their bed.  Right now, Erik isn’t done talking.  “I just can’t let you join in good conscience, regardless of whether you agree with me now or not.  It’s my fault—no, let me finish,” he says firmly when Charles opens his mouth, “it’s my fault Shaw came after you.  It’s my fault he got a hold of you.”

“Of all the most _asinine_ things,” Charles erupts, unable to contain himself, “for you to believe—we’ve been over this, Erik, it’s _no one’s_ fault, I don’t know why you insist on—”

“Maybe it isn’t my fault,” Erik allows gently, “and one day, maybe I can believe that.  But right here, right now, that’s how I feel.”

Charles regards him with his piercing gaze and Erik can practically hear the low buzz of the telepath’s thoughts.  He can tell Charles still doesn’t fully agree with him, but he doesn’t say anything yet so Erik continues.

“I can’t bring myself to feel happy or eager that you finally see things my way.  Because I know that you shouldn’t see things my way.  We should be sitting here arguing about how you care too much for humans and how I don’t care enough.”  Erik gives a small, albeit weary grin at the thought.  “Just like how we used to.  That doesn’t mean I prefer you any less now.”  Now that he knows Charles needs to hear it, he can’t stop saying it.  Erik refocuses.  Charles needs to hear _all_ of this.  “I just want to be the better man, through all this, and not use you.  You might agree with me about the humans now, but as far as I’m concerned, you’ve been coerced into thinking this way.  You’ve been used enough.”

“Then what am I to do?” Charles asks, though he sounds more resigned than angry.  “Sit here and twiddle my thumbs?  I _will_ go mad.”

“Absolutely not.”  Erik says firmly.  “You’re going to start your academy.”

Charles’ gaze had drifted idly to the bookcases, but now he looks back up sharply.  “What?”

“For mutants.”  Erik almost wants to laugh at his expression.  “We already have Scott and Ororo.”  Scott, of course, had been a deliberate addition to their ragtag family, and Erik had picked up Ororo himself by pure chance only a few months ago.  “What’s a few more?  It’s what you wanted.”  He belatedly remembers what Charles has been trying to tell him all evening, and asks tentatively, “Is it still something you want?”

Charles nods slowly, as if he had to think about it.  “Yes, yes but…I don’t know if I’m, ah, suitable enough for children.”

Erik stops himself from gritting his teeth.  _Shaw_.  Still, as much as it pains him to admit, Charles might have a valid point—he’s harsher than he used to be, and coupled with his telepathy, he’s downright dangerous.  “Alex and the others can help.  They’ve been sitting too long without real responsibilities as it is.  But you can still find the young mutants, Charles.  And this place can still be a safe haven for them.”

Charles closes his eyes, finally leaning in to Erik’s touch.  “When did _you_ become the voice of reason?”

Erik smiles, drawing him closer so that he can bury his nose in the telepath’s hair.  “I’ve _always_ been the voice of reason, even from the start.”

Charles huffs out a disbelieving laugh, but his hands are beginning to trace idle patterns on Erik’s chest, slowly meandering downwards.

Erik’s smile grows teeth.  They can talk to Alex and the others about matters tomorrow.  “Come to bed, Charles,” he murmurs in the telepath’s ear, making him give a long shiver, “let me show you how much I _prefer_ you.”

 

X

 

It’s very loud when they enter the room where the intruders are being held, and Charles wishes that they would all just _shut up_.

He has his eyes closed and he’s rubbing his temples when he realizes that everything has fallen very still and very silent, and looks up to discover that everyone in the room save Erik is frozen in place.  Huh.  He must have made that a command.

Erik is looking at him, amused.  “Headache, Charles?”

“I am convinced that most of your subordinates are moronic imbeciles.”  Charles mutters, letting his hands drop.  “You should _hear_ their thoughts.”

“Not everyone can be as all-knowing as you,” Erik says sagely, “but this is unfortunately the world we all must live in.  Let them go, _liebling_ , and then go lie down if your head hurts.  You don’t need to be here for this.”  He gestures at the two frozen intruders vaguely.

“I am not an invalid.” Charles informs him calmly, and then releases his hold on the room.

Instantly, the two intruders go back shouting in whatever language it is they’re shouting in, while Toad and Burner shout back, clearly overlooking a rather significant language barrier that otherwise makes it obvious that no one can understand a word that anyone is saying.

Erik surveys the scene, and he looks about as impressed as Charles feels—that is to say, not in the slightest.  _I would never suggest that you were one, Charles_ , he thinks, before saying aloud, “Shut up and someone find a way to shut _them_ up before I kill you all.”  The metal in the room—which is practically every surface—hums slightly to drive his point home.

Charles has to give Erik some credit, because Toad and Burner fall silent at once.  All that remains is the incessant jabbering of the two intruders—they have to be natives, nothing else would fit because they’re clearly not mutants.  Charles doesn’t need to understand their language to be able to read the anger and fear pouring off of them in waves.

“Found them climbing up towards the landing pad,” Toad reports, “so we grabbed them.”

Now Erik looks like the one with a headache.  “Charles, can you read their minds?”

Charles considers them, reaching forward with his telepathy almost lazily, slithering into their minds.  He’s used his telepathy as a crude translator before—it’s child’s play to pick out the meanings of words directly from someone’s mind, after all—but why be boring?  “I could,” he answers absently, reaching down into the taller one’s mind, “or I could just—” He reaches the language center of the brain— _Actually thought to be two separate areas_ , he says idly to Erik, who he’s broadcasting his entire process to, _called the Broca’s area and Wernicke’s area, see here_ —and rips the language out of the human’s mind.

The man instantly goes slack-jawed, his shouts tapering off to unintelligible mutters along with a few grunts, incomprehensible.  His companion goes quiet as well, looking at him fearfully.

Charles blinks once as he absorbs the language, settling it into his own language center.  “There,” he says, “now they’re quiet, and I’m fluent.”  _Are we very much close to Brazil?_   He asks Erik as an afterthought as he peruses his new vocabulary. _It seems to be a variation of Portuguese, I believe._

Burner and Toad are staring at him with equal parts of shock and oh, dear, that seems to be horror, while Erik is expressionless, and behind that his mind is an icy well of calm.

“Charles,” he says.

“Oh, right, I’ll read their minds.”  Charles says even though he knows that’s not what Erik meant at all, and extends his power again, this time going for the shorter one’s mind.  “Certainly not mutants,” he reports calmly, as if that hadn’t been clear before, “and they seem to think that we’re devils.  Well.  Wait until they see Azazel.”

Erik is trying to decide if he could have stopped Charles from ripping the human’s sense of language comprehension out, and Charles is vaguely relieved when he abandons that train of thought with something equivalent to a mental sigh.  It’s not like he actually cares, and Charles is prepared to call him a hypocrite if he tries to say anything otherwise.  “Where did they come from?”

Charles scans their memories.  “Small village a ways down the mountain.  It looks like they saw the Blackbird earlier and came up to investigate.  Couldn’t decide if it was a god or some kind of…demon?”  How fascinating.  “You know, Erik, I bet their gene pool is really quite small given the remote location of their village, and—”

“Stop talking, Charles.” Erik says pleasantly.

Charles picks a curse word from his new language and uses it on him.

Erik might not understand what Charles just called him, per say, but he’s wise enough to know what just happened regardless.  “Yes, I’m sure you’re right.  Anyway, they truly are ignorant humans?  This truly is just one big misunderstanding?”

“Yes.” Charles confirms.  “Might I try—”

“No, we’re done here.”  Erik interrupts easily, pulling the door open by the hinges and gesturing him out.  Charles shrugs and goes, and behind him Erik says to Burner, “Kill them.”

“You know,” Charles says to Erik neutrally as the door slams shut and they begin to walk back down the hallway, “just because we left the room doesn’t mean I still can’t hear them scream.”  He reaches up to brush his temple briefly.

“Oh, you thought we left for your sake?”  Erik asks, still pleasant.  “Personally, I can’t stand the smell of burnt corpses.”

His thoughts carry a darker edge of memory, so Charles stands down.  “Noteworthy point.”  Silently, he adds, _I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have done that.  But it doesn’t bother me that I did_.

They’re alone, so Erik answers him aloud.  “No, don’t apologize.”  He sounds tired.  “It’s not the concept of what you did that bothers me.  It’s the fact that it was _you_ who did it.”

“You’re going to have to get used to that now that I’ve officially joined the Brotherhood.” Charles reminds him.  Still, he feels as if he should be bothered by it too, somehow.  “I’ll try to…watch myself.  In the future.”

Erik is silent for a moment.  “No.”  He says at last, shaking his head slightly.  “Do what you want, Charles.”

Charles blinks serenely.  “I already do, darling.”

That earns him a smirk.  “Yes, as I am _constantly_ reminded.”  _We need to have a Conversation about this later, though_.  Charles can hear the capital letters in his head.

“Well you are my favorite conversational partner.” Charles answers absently.  Erik may or may not reply, but Charles is too busy listening to the agony of the two humans broadcasting from half a hallway away with a detached sort of interest.

 

X

 

Alex is sitting in the kitchen with Moira and Sean the first time the Professor emerges from his room since they rescued him.  Alex thinks he looks like shit, covered in scrapes and bruises, too pale and eyes still a little glassy from the near-constant intake of morphine Hank has been administering.  He’s got a cast on his arm and a complicated-looking _thing_ around his torso for the broken ribs, and come to think of it, he probably shouldn’t be walking around.

“Whoa, Professor,” Sean greets him, “should you be downstairs yet?”

“It’s my house.” Charles says in answer, and yeah, he’s still hopped up on morphine because his letters come out a little slurred and there’s no way Erik’s been letting him drink.  Yet, anyway.  There’s sure to be plenty of drowning in alcohol in the future, once Charles is a little bit more recovered.  Alex has a feeling that they’re _all_ going to need it.

“It’s a nice house.” Sean informs him gravely.  “Very big.” 

Alex punches him in the arm because what the fuck, you don’t mess with someone high on morphine.  That’s just _wrong_.  While Sean makes a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan of pain, Alex wonders if he should go find Raven, or better yet Erik to come deal with this shit because he knows the Professor is all kinds of fucked up on several different levels and it’s not his job to fucking babysit.

He doesn’t admit it at the time, but seeing the Professor like this sort of scares the shit out of him.

Moira seems to be thinking along the same lines because she asks, “Where’s Erik, Charles?”

“Taking a shower.”  Charles replies.  Well that explains how he managed to get further than his bedroom door, at any rate.  Alex is about to get up to go find Raven instead when the Professor sort of hones in on Moira.  “You’re a human.”

“Well done, man,” Sean says, and Alex punches him again because _seriously_ , what the fuck.

“Of course I am,” Moira says, faintly confused, “your morphine doses must be through the roof, Charles, I think I’m going to talk to Hank and see if he can’t make an adjustment or—”

“You shouldn’t be here.”  Charles says coldly.  Alex has never heard the Professor use that tone of voice before, and frankly hadn’t thought Charles even had it in him.  “I should wipe your mind.”

What.

Moira _screams_ suddenly, clutching her head, and Sean and Alex leap to their feet, chairs toppling backwards.  Sean is yelling and Alex doesn’t know what the _fuck_ to do, because he doesn’t know what the _fuck is going on_ —

Erik is there suddenly, hair still damp from the shower, and he puts a hand on Charles’ shoulder, leaning down to mutter something in his ear.

Moira sags in her chair, panting, and Sean stops yelling but he’s staring at the Professor, freckles standing out in sharp contrast against his white face.  Alex is pretty sure he’s staring too, and all the Professor does is blink once or twice, as if coming out of a daze.

“You shouldn’t be down here.” Erik says, and he’s so calm that Alex sort of wants to punch him too, except he doesn’t want his arm ripped off.  “Let’s go back upstairs, yes?”

“Alright.” Charles says agreeably, and for a moment he looks _ancient_ with how tired he is.

Erik steers him back out of the kitchen gently, glancing once over his shoulder as if to convey that he’ll be back, and yeah, he’d better fucking come back and explain what the hell just happened here, because none of this shit makes sense anymore.

“ _Fuck_.” Alex says out loud, with considerable feeling.

Years later, Alex will see this as the day that he realizes that the Professor won’t ever be the same.

 

X

 

“Are they always, er, fighting?”

Sean looks sideways at Avalanche before following his gaze to Erik and Charles, watching as they walk back out of the conference room, sniping back and forth at each other as they take their leave.  They’d both gone down to see what the commotion was with the intruders and returned to announce that things had been taken care of.  No one dared to question that, and the meeting had been pretty much been adjourned by that point, everyone peacing out to go do whatever it was that needed doing that didn’t concern Sean.  Sean had been thinking about stopping by to see the kids before Avalanche stopped by his chair to whisper furtively in his ear.

“Yeah man, totally,” Sean answers, stretching languorously, “not a single day goes by without a constant stream of snark, my man.”

Avalanche looks worried.  “Constant?”

“Shit, it’s how they, like, _function_.”  Sean gives a satisfied sigh when something in his back cracks.  “They’re not actually fighting, dude.  They just like driving each other up the wall, you know?  They _love_ it.”  He leans forward with a grin, wagging his eyebrows.  “Here’s what you really gotta watch for—when they get quiet.  Then something’s _really_ wrong.”

Avalanche looks several kinds of enlightened.  “Oh.  Thank you, Banshee.”

“No problem dude.”  Sean waves his hand nonchalantly, still grinning as Avalanche leaves.

It’s all true, for the most part.  It’s a game that Erik and Charles play because they both think they’re hilarious.  Sean is beginning to agree, based on all the fantastic reactions they’ve been getting around the base so far.  If he didn’t know better, Sean thinks he might believe that they actually want to go for each other’s jugular. 

The best part about it, though, is that half the time they don’t even realize that they do it anymore.  Hank would use fancy words like _equilibrium_ , but Sean thinks that Erik and Charles have reached Nirvana or some shit with each other.  If that’s even possible.

So in all reality, what Sean actually should have told Avalanche was to not bother trying to figure out the proverbial shitstorm that is Erik-and-Charles because it’s easy to see that those two are on an entirely different wavelength from the rest of the world.

Sean thinks he’ll keep that to himself, though, because what Avalanche doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Mostly.

 

X

 

“Professor!”  Scott catches sight of them from halfway down the hallway and breaks off from the rest of the class, skipping down the hall.  Many of the other children are peering down the hallway curiously, but at Erik’s nod Jubilee ushers them away with a grin, but not before Ororo edges out of the group to follow Scott at a slightly slower pace.

“Hello there, Scott.”  Charles drops into an obliging crouch as Scott reaches him, letting the boy hug him.  “Where is Miss Lee taking you?”

“Her name is _Jubilee_ , Professor,” Scott admonishes, stepping back a little, “and she’s taking us up to the _observation_ deck to look at the stars before we go to bed.”  He says the word proudly, as if he’s only just learned it.  “She’s a really nice teacher, Professor, you would like her a lot.”

“I’m sure I would, my boy,” Charles assures him, as Erik goes, “Come here, Ororo.”

Ororo had been hanging back but now her face lights up and she comes over to grip Erik’s offered hand with a shy smile.  Out of all the children, Scott and Ororo are the only two that Charles counts as family.  Erik feels the same—he loves all the children, and isn’t afraid to admit it, but there is a fine line between student-ward and family.

“Hello Ororo,” Charles says to her, even as he absently straightens Scott’s shirt, tucking it back in with deft hands.

“Hello, Professor.”  She replies politely, even as she tucks herself along Erik’s leg.

Erik ruffles her pure white hair with his free hand.  He’s had a soft spot for her ever since he brought her back to the mansion.  “Do you like Jubilee too?”

“Oh yes,” Ororo says at once, eyes shining, “she knows a _lot_ , and her powers are so pretty.”

“Good.” Erik says gruffly.  He makes a mental note to thank Jubilee personally.  Charles highlights it for him.  Damn telepath.

“Where’s Alex?” Scott asks, batting Charles’ hands away so he can pull out his shirt again.  “Did he tell you that I said hi like I asked him to?”

“He did indeed,” Charles says with a small chuckle as he straightens from his crouch, “he’s a very good messenger, no?  Right now I believe he’s downstairs helping Hank set up his lab.”

“Can I see the lab when they’re done?”

“Hm, we’ll have to see.”

“Professor,” Ororo pipes up, “Kitty keeps asking me about you.”

“Oh?”  Charles arches a brow, but he still sounds open and friendly.  “And what does she ask you?”

“She just wants to know who you are.”  Ororo shrugs, though she sounds a little nervous.  “Stuff like that.”

“And what do you tell her?” Erik asks her, mildly curious.  He glances at Charles briefly, and the telepath gives him a minute shrug.  “That he’s a stuffy old bat?”

Ororo giggles, shaking her head.  “ _No_.”

“Thank you, Ororo, for sticking up for me,” Charles says dryly, “but feel free to tell her that Magneto is a stuffy old sod, if you’d like.”

Scott is laughing now too, and Erik exchanges a wry look with Charles.  This is the part of Charles that comes out in glimmers every now and then, the part of him that Erik would like to shine out, brighter again than all the rest.

“I only tell her that you’re the Professor,” Ororo says with another shrug, as if that is answer enough, “and that you own a lot of books.”

“Top marks, my dear.”  Charles gives her a small smile. 

His eyes are a little tight around the corners, though, so Erik says, “You two ought to catch up with your class now.”  He gives Ororo’s hand a small squeeze before gently letting go.  “Go look at the stars.  I want you to each show me a constellation tomorrow night.”

“Mine will be the _coolest_ constellation!”  Scott takes off down the hall after the rest of the children, shouting back over his shoulder, “Bye Professor!  Bye Magneto!”

“If Scott’s is the coolest, yours will be the loveliest.” Charles confides with Ororo, drawing another smile from the girl.

“Don’t worry Professor,” she says confidently, “mine will be _both_.”  With a wave, she skips after Scott.

Erik takes a moment to wonder how they both got so big so fast, and then turns back to Charles.  “How are you holding up?”

Charles rubs the bridge of his nose, and Erik can feel his telepathy unfolding again—he’s always so careful when it comes to Scott and Ororo.  He shouldn’t have to be.  “Fine.  Are we finished for the evening?”

“Unless you’re hungry.”  Erik confirms.  It’s been a long day that technically started yesterday.

“Not particularly.” Charles answers dismissively.

“Then we are quite finished, _schatz_.”

Charles smirks.  “Good.”

 

X

 

“You don’t put your fingers up to your temple anymore.” Erik remarks one morning while they’re sitting out on the patio in the gardens for breakfast.

“You don’t wave your hands around anymore.” Charles says back as he turns a page in the paper.  “Your point?”

Erik shrugs, takes a bite of toast.  “We’ve gotten better.”

Charles shoots him a smile over the top of the paper.  It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.  “Amazing, isn’t it?”

“Not particularly.”

Charles lowers the paper, eyebrows raised.  “Not particularly?” he repeats.

Erik can’t resist grinning.  He loves throwing Charles Xavier for a loop.  “It’s exactly how it should be.”

“I’m beside myself with joy, Erik, that things are going so well for you.” Charles deadpans.

Erik reaches over to flick Charles’ bangs off his forehead while he uses his power to lift a spoon with more sugar for the telepath’s tea.  “Isn’t this right up your alley, Charles?  It’s like we’re evolving.”

Charles grabs the spoon and swirls the sugar through his tea, tapping the edge of his cup with a small clinking sound.  “You are unreasonably chipper this morning; did you bang your head on the way out of the bedroom?”

“Don’t tell me you’re still bitter about our height difference, Charles.”

Charles drops the spoon onto the tablecloth and gives him a flat look.  “What is this really about, Erik?”

“I’ve an idea, Charles.”  Erik holds his gaze steadily, all traces of humor gone.  “For you and I.”

Charles watches him for a moment.  He doesn’t try to read Erik’s mind, and Erik is hyperaware of how still and quiet the gardens are in the early morning.  None of the children are awake yet, so the manor stands tall and silent behind them.  It has been a year to the day exactly since Erik pulled Charles out of a room with too many mirrors.

Neither of them are pretending that this isn’t significant, but they’re not acknowledging it yet either.

“Let’s hear it, then.”  Charles says.

“Easier if you just…”  Erik taps the side of his head.

Charles gives a slight nod, and then Erik can feel him flickering gently through his thoughts.  Erik sits still and waits, letting Charles absorb it all.

Finally Charles blinks once, withdrawing from Erik’s head.  His smile is slow to form, but this time it reaches all the way up to his blue eyes, and is razor-sharp.  “Why, Erik,” he says, “that’s a wonderful idea.”

 

X

 

“Do you still want to hear what I think?” Charles asks as they slip into their private quarters.  Erik glances down and sees he’s holding the report Erik handed to him hours ago.

“Somehow, Charles,” Erik says as he melts the locks in the door, effectively soldering it shut, “I feel as if you’ll always tell me what you think, so I don’t know why either of us ever bothers to ask.”  A flick of his fingers and the lamps in the room click on.

Charles scoffs as he walks further into the room, pushing the helmet from its spot on the bed to the floor and sitting down on the edge of the bed.  “I have half a mind to tell you what I think in my new language, for that.”

“Good thing half of your particular mind is probably equivalent to a full mind of anyone else.” Erik muses, moving away from the door.  “So I’m counting on your other half to take pity, and speak English.”

“You’re not making much sense, darling, I hope you know.  I don’t do pity.”

“Talk, Charles.”

“I think it’s interesting.”  Charles is serious at once, sitting up a little straighter.  His fingers toy with the edges of the paper.  It’s a short report.  “Worth looking into.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Erik agrees.  “I can only hope that they’re seriously dedicated to making—what did they call it, again?”

“Genosha.” Charles supplies, testing the word out.  “A country for mutants.”

“I can only hope that they’re seriously dedicated to making Genosha legitimate,” Erik continues, “because that would be an enormous step forward.”

“Astronomical, my friend.” Charles concedes.  “But it will also throw the entire world into disarray, I’d imagine, because it will undoubtedly be seen as a threat by all the current world powers.”

Erik lifts a shoulder in a shrug.  “Any sort of progressive movement tends to rock the foundations of the world, Charles.  Every time.”

“Then start making waves, Erik,” Charles says with a roll of his eyes, “and legitimize Genosha yourself.”  Then he yelps when a long tendril of metal extending from the headboard of the bed behind him drags him backwards up the mattress.

“I’ll consider it,” Erik says casually, watching Charles struggle, “but I have a few other things taking up my attention for the time being.”

“You should really consider a career change, become a stand-up comedian,” Charles says acerbically, “because you’re so devastatingly funny I can barely stand it.”  He has to address the ceiling because he’s on his back, arms dragged up over his head by the wrists.

“I don’t plan on letting you stand at all.” Erik admits, sitting on the edge of the bed and bending to take his shoes off.  “So that isn’t too far-fetched.”

“Your wit would probably be the death of us all.” Charles says dryly.  Erik can feel him tugging lightly at the metal wrapped around his wrists, testing the bonds.  They’re solid, holding him in place firmly but not nearly tight enough to hurt.

Erik turns and crawls up the length of the bed, pausing only to pull Charles’ shoes and socks off as well before moving so that he’s hovering over Charles on his hands and knees, straddling him.  Charles looks up at him, eyebrows raised in silent challenge.  He can’t stop himself from shifting slightly, though, and Erik grins.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Erik says at last, and when Charles opens his mouth to reply Erik kisses him, pushing his tongue into Charles’ mouth to stop him from talking but mostly to taste him.

 _I’m not_ that _easy to shut up_.  Charles says smugly, but he’s responding eagerly to the kiss, eyes closed.  His arms twitch in their bindings, as if he wants to bring them down to wrap around Erik’s shoulders.

 _Are you?_   Erik thinks back, grinning into Charles’ mouth.

_I—_

Whatever Charles wanted to say stutters to a halt when Erik lowers himself down the rest of the way over the telepath’s body and then grinds down, making Charles moan and twist beneath him.  Erik deepens the kiss at the same time, tangling his tongue with Charles’ as he gives another experimental roll of his hips that has Charles yanking futilely at his bonds, jerking his hips up to meet Erik so that they both groan.

Erik pulls back a little, admiring his handiwork.  Charles is flushed and panting, and when his eyes flicker open they remain half-lidded with pupils dilated, his lips stained a darker red.  Erik moves down to nose at his chin, tilting his head back so that he can nip at his throat, making his way down to Charles’ pulse point where he knows to suck, scraping _just so_ with his teeth so that Charles is jerking underneath him again with a whine.

Erik licks down to the joint between his neck and shoulder, and sits up a little so he can start undoing Charles’ usual layers, working his way through today’s fare of waistcoat, tie, and crisp dress shirt.  The tie is thrown haphazardly off the side of the bed, and once he gets everything else unbuttoned all Erik can really do is push everything to the side; he’s not quite ready to release Charles’ arms yet.  Charles shivers once but the motion is lost as Erik slides down the bed and his body, kissing his way down to the telepath’s navel.

Charles’ breathing is coming fast and erratic, and a glance up gives Erik a nice view of his throat working as he swallows, before giving a terse, “ _Erik_.”

“ _Charles_.” Erik says back with a laugh but his hands move to Charles’ belt.  Instead of using his power, Erik undoes the buckle by hand, snapping open the button, and then bends to pull the zipper down with his teeth.

Charles squirms, tugging at his wrists again with a small noise of desperation as Erik slides his pants down, hooking a finger in the elastic band of his underwear and dragging that down too, pooling everything down by the telepath’s knees.  Exposed and splayed out like this, in his not-quite-half-dressed state, Charles looks obscene.

He’s already hard, Erik notes with no small satisfaction, so he grips Charles’ thighs gently and spreads them apart so that he can settle between them.  Charles whimpers as Erik’s breath ghosts across his cock, squirming again as if he can’t decide whether to curl away or thrust up.

Erik spares him the agony of the wait and wastes no more time, curling his fingers around Charles’ hips to hold him down before swallowing him whole.

“Erik!”  Charles chokes out as Erik begins to work him with his mouth, hips straining against Erik’s hold and arms straining against the metal headboard, doing his best to move even though Erik won’t let him.  He manages to worm the rest of his way out of his pants and his legs come up to hook around Erik’s shoulders, yanking him closer, and then Charles throws his head back against the sheets and babbles wordlessly as Erik hollows his cheeks and _sucks_ , long shudders rippling down his body.

Erik can tell when Charles is getting close, easily recognizing the tell-tale tensing of Charles’ body, so he pulls back, sliding his lips off of Charles’ cock with a wet slurp.  Charles moans out a protest, his legs tightening around Erik’s shoulders, as if he can pull Erik back onto his cock again by sheer force.

“Easy, _liebling_.”  Erik sits up fully, reaching for the jar of slick he keeps close by.

“Please, Erik,” Charles says, breathless and beautiful for it, “ _need_ you, need you inside—” He bites off the end of his words with a moan as Erik begins to tease his entrance with two slicked fingers.

Erik pushes both fingers in slowly, enjoying the shudder that ripples down Charles’ entire body.  He moves his fingers apart, stretching Charles gently, and Charles does his best to press up against Erik’s fingers, straining against metal.  Erik teases him, keeping his fingers absolutely still but moving his hand and wrist in time with Charles’ motions, so that Charles feels full but achieves none of the friction of movement he so desperately wants.  Erik keeps this up until Charles makes a distressed, broken sound and then Erik finally curls his fingers until the telepath is swearing, adding a third finger so that Charles is nice and stretched.

Erik pulls his fingers back out and Charles whimpers again, falling back against the sheets.  Erik finally does something about his own clothes, throwing off his shirt and getting rid of his pants, dipping his hand back into the jar so he can spread the lotion over his cock.  He climbs back up over Charles, pushing the telepath’s legs, which have fallen to the sides a little, back up over his shoulders as he brings them into alignment, bracing himself with one arm on the mattress.  Charles looks up at him, needy and wanting.

“God, I love you,” Erik murmurs, and then kisses him deeply as he pushes his way inside, sinking down into tight heat that has him groaning into Charles’ mouth.

Charles gasps at the initial thrust, echoing Erik’s groan, and Erik gives him time to settle before snapping his hips down again.  Charles’ telepathy sparks in his head, drawing Erik in and sending him wave after wave of dizzying sensation all backed by Charles’ love as the telepath returns his sentiments in the best way he knows how.  They are connected now, physically and mentally, and not even Shaw can take this away from them.

“Erik, Erik, let me down, let me down,” Charles babbles fervently when Erik draws back so they can both breathe, unrelenting with his thrusts.  “Please, let me down, I can’t, I need—”

Erik understands, releasing his hold on the metal around Charles’ wrists, shoving the metal tendrils back into the headboard clumsily, he’ll fix it later, because Charles has brought his arms down to snake around Erik’s back, finally giving himself the proper leverage so he can roll his hips up, meeting Erik thrust for thrust so that they’re moving with one another, collectively driving Erik deeper and deeper into Charles’ core.

Charles’ breath is hitching with every thrust and he’s tensing up again, the noises coming out of him nothing close to resembling anything coherent, and Erik slips a hand down between them to grab onto Charles’ cock, giving him three heavy strokes until he finally comes with a cry, and Erik’s not far behind him, holding out for a few more brutal thrusts before he’s coming with a groan, burying himself deep and filling Charles to the brim, coming inside him.

Charles is slack beneath him, panting, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.  “I,” he says, and then clears his throat, “I love you too.”

Erik kisses him again, slowly and lazily, making a low sound of contentment when Charles brings his hands up to run his fingers through Erik’s equally damp hair, massaging his scalp.  When they part, Erik pulls out of him gently though they both wince a little at the sensation and equal feeling of loss.

With a burst of effort, Erik levers himself off the bed, making his way into the bathroom to grab a washcloth to run under the tap, wiping himself down for the most part before stepping back out into the bedroom.  Charles is sprawled exactly where he left him, and Erik climbs back into bed, gently washing the stickiness off his stomach and cleaning him up.

They shift to get beneath the covers together, Charles curling in on his side and Erik sliding up behind him, tangling their legs together and drawing the sheets up over them and dropping his arm down over Charles’ waist to pull him back closer all in one motion, tucking his arm against Charles’ chest.  The lamps click off with a flicker of Erik’s fingers, and the room pitches into darkness.

“Welcome to my base.” Erik murmurs in his ear, his eyes already flickering shut.

Charles hums, too sleepy to reply aloud, so the last thing Erik remembers before drifting off is Charles’ voice whispering directly into his head, _Thank you, darling_.

 

X

 

It takes hours for Psylocke to fall asleep because she can’t make the pounding in her head go away.  Her head has hurt ever since Xavier pinned her in place back in the conference room with the same amount of effort normally reserved for blinking.

It also doesn’t help that she can’t get the echo that Xavier unintentionally left behind out of her head, either—it sounds like one long, wordless scream.


	6. It isn't supposed to be like this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, you guys. Yikes.
> 
> I'd just like to thank everyone who leaves kudos on this. :) I'm glad you're all reading along.
> 
> Uh, lots of swearing ahead? Because, well, Logan.
> 
> After this chapter, I promise that stuff finally starts happening. For real. So hang tight.

More drugs.  More drugs have entered his system and already Charles barely understands what Shaw is saying, his vision blurring out completely.  His thoughts had been muddled enough before but now they’re splintering, branching every which way so fast that for a moment Charles thinks he’s gone mad.

He’s brought back down into focus when Shaw abruptly grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him upward, pulling against the cuffs holding Charles down in the first place.  A short, pained sound escapes his lips as his broken ribs grind together.

“I know how to break you, Charles Xavier.” Shaw says softly, right up in his face.  A chill runs through him and Charles shivers, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.  “And I _will_ break you.  You telepaths are resilient, but once I get under that armor, you’re astoundingly easy to shatter.  And afterwards…”  Shaw pauses, smiling gently.  “Afterwards, I’ll rebuild you exactly how I want you.”

He lets Charles drop back onto the table, ignoring the telepath’s pained grunt, and then he’s pressing down on Charles’ right arm with his superhuman strength and Charles hears a sickening crunch before he’s screaming again.

 

X

 

Charles sits on the edge of the observatory deck, eyes closed and face tilted slightly upwards despite the fact the sun has yet to crest the mountain peaks to the east.  The mountain air holds a small, biting chill but is otherwise gloriously fresh, and he takes a deep breath, enjoying the sting in his lungs.

He’d wanted to come up here ever since the night before, when Scott and Ororo had mentioned it.  Erik hadn’t taken him up here on his tour.  There isn’t much to see other than mountains in every direction but the view is breathtaking nonetheless—yet nothing compares to the vast _silence_ that Charles finds himself sitting in.

They’re quite remote.  Save for the low buzz of the base beneath him, Charles can only pick out several small villages scattered throughout the foothills of the mountains far below, and even then the thoughts there are only tiny whispers in the back of his head even if he strains himself.  Charles can’t decide if he likes it or not.

“Professor?”

“Whoa, Prof, living on the edge.”

“Hardly, Sean.”  Charles says dryly.  He opens his eyes but otherwise remains facing the view.  “What can I do for you, boys?”

“We were wondering if you knew—well, we wanted to ask you where Magneto is.”  Hank says.  He and Sean come to stand on either side behind Charles.

“He and Azazel left an hour ago to check up on Brotherhood training grounds.”  Charles answers.  He turns his head slightly to look back at them.  “Anything I can do in his stead?”

“Oh, not really, no.  I wanted to ask him about setting up a timetable for reconstructing Cerebro.”

“Already plotting, Hank?”

“Something like that, Professor.”

“And I wanted to ask him if I could fly around for a bit.”  Sean says cheerily.  “Figured I’d actually, you know, _ask_ , so he doesn’t blow a gasket.  Better safe than sorry.”

“You might ask him for some maps of the area before you do.  You can fly as far as you’d like without getting lost if you know the topography.”

Sean nods contemplatively.  “Good idea, Prof.”

“I’m full of them, Sean.” Charles says wryly as he turns back to face the view again.  He isn’t being arrogant; he’s just stating simple fact.

The two boys hover for a moment, and Charles sits very still.  He doesn’t need to be a mind reader to know what they want to say, and he finds that he’d really rather that they don’t.

“Well, we’ll leave you to it.” Hank says abruptly, no doubt after he and Sean have exchanged a series of significant looks.  “Tell Magneto we were looking for him when he gets back, please?”

“I’ll be sure to pass that along.” Charles assures them.

“Enjoy the view, Prof,” Sean adds, “and don’t, like, fall or anything.”

“We’re leaving now.” Hank says with a sigh, and Charles can picture him towing Sean forcibly away.  The door leading back down into the base snaps shut and he is alone again.

Charles lets out a light sigh once they’re gone.  It is five years to the day today, and he feels as if he is drowning.

 

X

 

The first time Logan meets Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr he has no idea who the fuck they are, what the fuck they want, where the fuck they came from, or why the fuck they’re bothering him.  All he knows is that two young idiots have slid up to the bar on either side of him—stupid fucks are lucky they haven’t set off his reflexes; he _hates_ being boxed in like this—and are introducing themselves, cool as you please.

“Excuse me, I’m Erik Lehnsherr.”

“Charles Xavier.”

Logan raises an eyebrow.  The short one— _Xavier_?  What the fuck kind of name is that?— _reeks_ of the tall one.  Lehnsherr’s scent is plastered all over him, and looking at Lehnsherr, Logan recognizes a fellow predator when he sees one.  Xavier is either stupid or crazy, most likely both, to be screwing around with someone like that.

Logan isn’t in the mood to deal with this shit, so he gives them some sage advice, which they’ve clearly already taken to heart.  “Go fuck yourselves.”

Lehnsherr looks to Xavier, who turns away from the bar quickly with a small shake of his head.  Logan is momentarily stunned when Lehnsherr follows Xavier out of the bar without further word, and even goes as far as to turn his head to watch their backs as they leave.  Huh.

He needs another drink.

 

X

 

Erik and Azazel teleport directly back into Erik’s office from the training grounds.  Erik is satisfied for the time being with the progress of the latest recruits—their mutations were all fascinating.  Slither, the mutant he’s put in charge there, knows what Erik’s expectations are and always sees that they’re met.

“Better take that off, comrade,” Azazel says with a grin, his tail flicking up to tap the helmet, “before the Professor has a fit.”

“If he has a fit, you’d be the first to know.” Erik says, not unreasonably, but he pulls the helmet off and sets it on his desk.  He’d only worn it out of sheer habit, especially since Charles had predictably opted out of making the trip with him.  There’s a small pause, and then Charles slides into his head with a wordless greeting, not quite reading his mind but settling down in his head regardless.  “You were just leaving?”

“Of course, Boss.”  Azazel poofs out of the room before Erik can consider throwing something at him.

Erik takes a moment to page through the new batch of files Avalanche has left on his desk—reports of hate crimes against mutants in the United States, France, Russia, China…the outline of a plan for another base, this one located in Turkey…notes on the progress they’ve made looking for Shaw, which isn’t much, not yet, but he’s gratified to see that his people are on it, and it reminds him that he needs to contact Moira…and then, at the very bottom of the pile, a small note addressed to him in bold typeface.

 _This Sunspot fellow has invited you to Genosha_ , Charles says.  He’s tuned in to Erik’s thoughts now and is reading along with him.  _You’re making so many friends, Erik._

 _I don’t have friends_ , Erik reminds him, reordering the pile and dropping it back into his inbox.  Time to find out where one telepath has gotten himself to.  _I have you_.

 _You have me_.  Charles allows.  _Are you going to take him up on his offer?_

 _Perhaps after we find Shaw_.  Erik makes his way purposefully down the hall.  Shaw has kept himself well under the radar for five years now.  Frankly, this is the only reason that Shaw is still alive.

The last time Shaw had surfaced, it’d only been because he thought he had a chance at starting a nuclear holocaust between the United States and Russia.  Erik wants to know why he’d decided to finally resurface again now.

 _Hard to predict the mind of a mad man_ , Charles muses.

 _You won’t have to predict it_.  Erik is moving on automatic, letting Charles guide him.  It’s not quite mind-control, though Charles is more than capable of it; he’s just giving Erik subconscious nudges in the right direction.  _You just have to read it_.

 _I’ll do more than that, my friend_.  Charles sounds tense beneath his otherwise cool voice.

Erik finds himself climbing up onto the observation deck.  It hadn’t originally been a part of his design in the base; it’d come into being merely by the sheer convenience of the positioning of the rocks after he’d initially carved the base out.  Charles is easy to spot, sitting on the low, crude ledge with his legs dangling out into empty space.

“It’s a little dangerous up here for children, especially if they’re coming up here at night.”  Charles says, his voice drifting back over his shoulder as Erik crosses the deck.

“I’m sure Jubilee is nothing but careful.”  Erik comes to a stop behind him, resting his hands on Charles’ shoulders.  Sure enough, the telepath is tense.

They are quiet for some time, both aloud and mentally.  Erik traces the line of mountain peaks and ridges across the sky, slowly massaging the muscles in Charles’ shoulders.  He enjoys when they are both quiet, when simple presence is enough and they can just sit, and _be_.  It reminds him of how they used to play chess, before; while some games were rife with debate or banter, others were quiet, and they were content to merely be in each other’s company, no words needed.

“We haven’t played in years.” Charles says quietly.  He’s slowly relaxed under Erik’s hands.

“No,” Erik agrees, “not since before.”

“I’d like to play again sometime,” Charles says softly, “once more.”

“We can do that.”  Erik’s hands are still now, but he keeps them where they are.  He lets another few moments of silence pass.  “Charles.”

“For five years,” Charles says slowly, his words dropping down heavily between them like rocks into a pond, “I’ve felt like I’ve been treading water.  I’m _tired_ , Erik.  So tired.”  His last words ride a soft sigh, as if the admission has cost him.  It probably has.

Erik doesn’t respond at first.  He knows the feeling, but it’s not sympathy or even empathy that Charles wants.  “You’re almost there,” he says quietly instead, “you’re almost done.”

“And then what happens?”  Charles tilts his head back, his eyes reflecting the blue of the sky.  As if they needed any help.

Erik bends to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.  He doesn’t need to answer.  They both know how this ends.  He answers anyway, because he knows Charles needs to hear it, for this last stretch.  “We build a better world.”

Charles moves his head slightly so that their lips meet, bringing one hand up to rest on top of one of Erik’s hands still on his shoulders.  “And then?” he murmurs across Erik’s lips when they break apart.

“And then,” Erik says, their foreheads brushing, “you can finally rest.”

Charles closes his eyes with another soft, shuddering sigh.  “Thank god.”

 

X

 

The second time Logan meets Erik Lehnsherr, he’s in a bar again.  It’s much like the previous one, actually, except the beer is better here and it’s much homier inside, not fancy and streamlined like a big-city bar.  Logan might actually like it here, not that he’d actually ever admit it.

Lehnsherr appears at his side, much like he did two and a half years ago, except this time he pulls out an empty barstool and sits down at the counter without a word, signaling the barkeep for a beer.  Logan only recognizes him on the account of his scent—Logan never forgets a scent, least of all the scent of someone as lethal as this.  He’s not afraid, fuck you very much, not in the slightest, but he does like to think that he keeps aware.

Lehnsherr takes a long drink from his beer when it arrives, and Logan waits, watching him without actually watching him.  He chews on his cigar.  If he’s got something to say, he’ll say it.  Otherwise Logan is content to say nothing at all.

There’s something different about him.  Lehnsherr is more contained now.  He’s still poised perfectly on the edge of violence just as Logan remembers, but it seems more controlled now, in a way so that it’s not threatening to burst out from around the seams.  He’s been tempered by something, and Logan imagines that whatever it was, it was a hard lesson for Lehnsherr to learn.

They sit like that for a while, pretending to ignore each other, and Lehnsherr finishes his first beer and signals for a second.  If Logan didn’t know better he would almost be convinced that running into him here really is just pure coincidence.

Logan does not believe in coincidence.

He’s in the middle of taking another shot when Lehnsherr says, “Your skeleton is steel.  Adamantium, if I’m to make a guess.”  His voice is soft enough to carry only between them, so no one else can overhear.

Logan goes very still, the rest of the shot draining down his throat.  It burns, but only for the barest of seconds.

Lehnsherr still isn’t looking at him, idly running a finger down the side of his glass, leaving a trail through the perspiration.  “You’re a mutant.”

Logan puts his glass down with a sharp clink, picking up his cigar again.  “Gonna make something out of it, bub?”  He almost wants to ask how the fuck Lehnsherr knew, but he won’t give him that satisfaction.  As it is, he’s about three seconds from letting his claws out and shoving them through Lehnsherr’s throat.

“Hardly.” Lehnsherr says blithely.  “I can sense the metal.”  Logan’s free arm suddenly smacks down onto the bar, hard enough that the bartender glances over briefly.  Lehnsherr twists in his seat slightly, looking over at Logan calmly.  “And control it.”

Logan doesn’t try to move his arm, even after he feels Lehnsherr let go.  He keeps it where it is, and takes a deep huff of his cigar.  “Do that again,” he says after a moment, meeting Lehnsherr’s gaze calmly, “and I’ll rip your intestines out.”

“You wouldn’t be able to reach me.”  Lehnsherr says.  It’s not a taunt; it’s not even a threat.

Logan shrugs.  “I can still try.”

Lehnsherr drinks the rest of his beer, and then slides something across the surface of the bar towards Logan, stopping just short of too close.  Logan glances down.  It’s a business card, nothing but an address in bold typeface on thick expensive paper. 

“It’s a place for mutants.”  Lehnsherr drops a few dollars on the bar next to his empty beer glass.  “Stop by sometime.  Even if you just need a place to sleep for a night.”  Then, without a backwards glance, he leaves.

Logan snorts as soon as the bar’s door slams shut.  What an asshole.

He keeps the card, though.  He isn’t really sure why.

 

X

 

Charles sinks down to sit in the wide chair behind Erik’s desk, leaning back and crossing his legs neatly as Erik fiddles with the satellite phone, punching in a string of numbers before leaning against the wall casually as the line begins to connect, ringing.

“Won’t this be traceable?” Charles asks, mostly to fill up the silence.

Erik shakes his head.  “We’ve got a technopath who takes care of it.”

“Fascinating.”  Charles is mildly interested.  He’s never met a technopath before.

On the fourth ring, Moira answers.  “Moira MacTaggert.”  Listening through Erik, Charles can hear her voice as clearly as if he were the one with the phone pressed against his ear.

“MacTaggert.”

“Erik.”  Moira sounds surprised.  “Hang on a moment.”  There’s a few shuffling sounds, and then a door opening and closing again before she continues.  “I’ve done some looking.  I don’t have much, but it should be enough to confirm your suspicions.”

“We’re listening, MacTaggert.” Erik says pointedly.

“Oh.  Hello, Charles.”  Moira says.  “Anyway.  Stryker’s under a huge investigation right now because it was discovered that he’s the one who issued the order to attack the mansion.  They’re not condemning him, exactly, because they’re afraid of you now after the, um, condition you returned our soldiers in, but they still want to know how Stryker knew about you in the first place and why he decided to take action on his own without alerting McCone or any of his other superiors.”

“Let me guess,” Erik says dryly, “he can’t remember.”

“Yep,” Moira confirms, “and as far as I can tell, he isn’t faking.  He doesn’t even remember issuing the orders, but it takes an ocean of paperwork to get anything done here, so the paperwork is all there and everything points to him.  Everyone’s baffled.  Obviously Frost was here.”

Charles taps his fingers on the desktop slowly, eyes following Erik back and forth as the metallokinetic paces.  Stryker really was just a pawn, nothing more.  Thinking about it, the attack is almost a clumsy move on Shaw’s part, unless he has some form of ulterior motives that revolve around getting them displaced. 

But that didn’t work either, Charles thinks.  They were able to move here, to this base.

“So Stryker is a dead end.” Erik says, mostly to Charles rather than Moira.  “Shaw’s made use of him, and then dropped him.”  Charles gives him a nod.

“Looks like it.” Moira says.  She pauses.  “I heard what you did to the mansion.”

“What about it, MacTaggert?”

“I just, well…”  She sighs heavily.  “I hope you catch up to that bastard soon, Erik.  And when you do…”  She trails off, letting the sentence hang.

“That’s the plan, MacTaggert.”  Erik says calmly, stopping his pacing and looking straight at Charles.  “We’ll be in contact if we need anything.”

Moira sighs again, slightly exasperated but also accepting.  “Alright, I’ll—” She’s cut off when Erik abruptly ends the call.

Charles and Erik stare at each other for a few long moments.  Charles doesn’t even need to read Erik’s mind to know that everything is clicking into place for Erik now just as it had for him only minutes ago, and Charles watches realization dawn in Erik’s eyes.

“He’s fucking with us.” Erik says slowly, his fist clenching and unclenching several times.  “He’s planning something.”

“The more moves he makes, the more he’ll be drawn out into the open.” Charles answers.  “The more he’s out in the open, the bigger of a target he paints on the back of his head.”

Erik’s breathing hard, and Charles is reminded of the night they met, when Erik’s rage had practically been radiating off of him, a roiling mass of white-hot hatred.  It had been hard to weather from 200 meters away, and here in this office space, it’s stifling.  Charles rises to his feet, circling the desk and making his way over to stand in front of Erik.

“We’re close, love,” Charles says, sliding his hands into Erik’s, “just like you said before.  We’re almost done.”  He pauses, studying Erik’s face.  “You’ve been treading water for 20 years now.”  Charles feels cold.  More than half his life.  What he feels is nothing compared to what Erik must.

Erik lets out a long, shuddering sigh, stepping forward and dropping his forehead to rest on Charles’ shoulder.  “23,” he mumbles, “except meeting you was like finding an island.”

“I’m sorry this island went and sunk on you.” Charles says with a chuckle, and then blinks when Erik gives him a shake.

“No.”  Erik keeps his head where it is, but his voice is a low growl.  “Don’t.”

“Alright.” Charles says, sliding his hands up and down Erik’s back slowly.  “Alright.”

Erik is quiet for a moment before he huffs out a painful-sounding laugh, weak and mirthless.  “ _Look_ at us, Charles.  Is this all we have?”  His arms come up to wrap around Charles, so that they’re holding on to each other.

“It’s not all we’ve had, though.”  Charles says quietly.  It’s not really an actual response to Erik’s question, which Charles isn’t sure that he can bring himself to answer.  “That has to count for something.”

“Something,” Erik agrees in a low voice.  “Certainly something.”

Charles thinks that between the two of them, maybe they have just enough pieces left to make something whole.  The thought makes him laugh, a ragged sound with too many jagged edges that makes Erik grip him tightly, holding on even when Charles’ laughs turn to sobs.

 

X

 

The second time Logan meets Charles Xavier, he knows within seconds that Xavier is the hard lesson that Lehnsherr had to learn because something is very, very wrong.

The only reason he goes to the fucking address on the fucking card is because he meets Anna Marie, or rather, she meets him and they get shot at and then they’re running together.  It’s all a bit of a blur, and when it’s over Logan comes to the (horrifying) discovery that he has a _child_ in his care.

She is young and small and innocent and so afraid of herself that it kind of makes Logan’s heart hurt, which is something that he’d long thought was impossible.  She is instantly very precious to him, which isn’t supposed to happen either because he’s got enemies and an unstable lifestyle and has no business being around children, let alone small ones.

She’s curled up in the center of the bed in the shitty motel room he’s been living out of this week and Logan is sitting in the extremely uncomfortable chair at the tiny-ass table on the other side of the room having a moment of panic because _what the fuck is he supposed to do now?_   He literally cannot do anything for her, but he also cannot bring himself to even consider abandoning her.

And then he remembers.  It’s crumpled and torn and stained a few different colors on the account of being in his pocket for something like three or four months now, but Logan still has the business card that that asshole Lehnsherr gave to him.  The address is still clearly legible, and fuck, he’d even said it was a place for mutants, so Anna Marie would definitely qualify.

Logan decides to take her there, check the place out—if it’s too fucking creepy or he gets a single bad vibe they can always leave, and he’ll figure something else out.  In the meantime it’s the only option he’s got, and he feels better just having that kind of direction.

He lets her sleep, because she clearly needs it, and in the morning after she’s taken a bath he packs up his shit and they fuck off to New York.

It’s weird already to find that the address leads them to a _mansion_ the size of the damn Taj Mahal and Logan stops just outside the gates and seriously considers turning around now but Anna Marie slips one small, gloved hand into his and says in her tiny Southern drawl, “Let’s knock on the door.”

Logan has to admit that the little lady’s got some balls, so they walk up to the tall front door and he puts quite a bit of his considerable strength behind his fist as he pounds on the door, adopting his favorite scowl.

It takes a few moments, but the door opens and Logan finds himself staring down at a kid a year or two older than Anna Marie who is wearing— _what the fuck?_ —red goggles. 

“Who are you?” The little punk demands, looking at both of them.  Logan already hates him.  “And why does your hair have white in it already?”

That last question is aimed towards Anna Marie, who grips Logan’s hand tighter as she bites her lower lip uncertainly.

“Look here, you little—” Logan starts to growl before cutting himself off, taking a deep breath.  He’s just a kid, for christ’s sake.  He adopts a tone that is less hostile, though only marginally.  “Is Lehnsherr in?”

The kid blinks at him from behind those ridiculous goggles, and then turns his head back inside, opening his mouth and begins to shout, “MAG—”

“Yes, Scott, I’m right here.”  Lehnsherr slouches into view, hands in his pockets as he comes to a stop and surveys Logan and Anna Marie.  “Go find your brother and bother him, alright?  Special orders.”

The little punk brightens and, thank god, takes off.

“So.”  Lehnsherr’s still watching them, and the asshole actually seems amused.  “Took you long enough to get here, were you lost?”

Logan’s had enough of this bullshit; he’ll apologize to Anna Marie later but right now there are some things he needs to say.  “Look here, asshole, I only came all the way the fuck out here because you told me this place was safe for mutants, and I—”

“It is.”  Lehnsherr interrupts him calmly.  His gaze drifts down to Anna Marie, and might grow a little softer so Logan might be a little less inclined to rip his balls off.  “Why don’t you come in.  We can go upstairs to talk.”  It should be a suggestion but the way Lehnsherr says it, it can only be an order.

This rankles, but Anna Marie is looking up at him hopefully, giving his hand a small tug, so Logan holds back a sigh and wonders when the fuck he became this little girl’s bitch.  Probably around the time she melted his goddamn heart.  Fuck.  “Fine.”

Lehnsherr nods as if he hadn’t expected anything less, and then turns around and walks away.  Logan supposes that they’re meant to follow so he guides Anna Marie in first before stepping after her.  As soon as they’re inside the door swings shut behind them and Logan’s claws nearly come out before he remembers that one, he’s still holding Anna Marie’s hand and two, Lehnsherr can fucking control metal so it was probably him who shut the door.  Jesus, he needs to get a hold of himself.

The mansion is even more opulent on the inside than the outside, so Logan wonders what the hell kind of drugs Lehnsherr must deal to be so disgustingly _loaded_.  If he’s ever truly strapped for cash Logan now knows which house to burglarize first, Jesus Christ.

They walk up a grand staircase, bypassing the second floor and going straight up to the third.  The corridors are long and there are many doors and Logan is beginning to wonder if they’ve somehow stepped into some strange funhouse straight out of hell when Lehnsherr finally picks a damn door and goes inside.

“Hello Logan.”  Xavier’s sitting behind a huge oak desk, looking up from a pile of paperwork when they enter, and Lehnsherr walks on over to lean sideways against the desk casually, meticulously unreadable.  Xavier, on the other hand, is exactly the same as Logan remembers him, except _not_.  “And Anna Marie, it’s very good to meet you.”

Logan is fairly certain he’s given neither of their names to anyone.

“My apologies,” Xavier says, though he doesn’t sound the least bit apologetic, and then suddenly he’s speaking without moving his lips, right into Logan’s head.  _My mutation is even less visible than yours._

“Fuck.” Logan says out loud, though apparently that’s unnecessary in this house.  He will also never, ever admit it, but when Xavier touched his mind, his entire body felt like ice.

“We can talk normally if you’d prefer.”  Xavier hardly bats an eye at his reaction.  Logan imagines that he must get that a lot, at any rate.  “You’re interesting because you’re actually resistant to my telepathy.”  Logan is getting that icy feeling again, Xavier’s doing something, and Logan doesn’t like it a single bit.  “I wonder if—”

“Charles.”  Lehnsherr interrupts him calmly and just like that, the icy feeling is gone.

“Right,” Xavier says automatically, and Logan raises an eyebrow, “you’ll be wanting an explanation of things here, then.”

It takes a while, but Logan is slowly more and more convinced that he’s made the right choice in bringing Anna Marie here.  It’s a school they’re trying to start, for young mutants who have nowhere else to go, where they can be themselves, and—best of all, in Logan’s opinion—learn to control their abilities.  By the end of it, Anna Marie is looking up at him hopefully so when a girl comes into the study who Xavier introduces as Angel, Logan allows Anna Marie to tag along with her down to the kitchen for some lunch and to meet the handful of other students.

Angel extends the invitation to him as well, but Logan stays because there’s one last thing he wants to get to the bottom of before he’s 100 percent convinced.

All throughout Xavier’s rather long-winded spiel about the school, Logan had been sizing him up and he’s pretty sure of two things.  One, something has _happened_ , between now and the first time he’d met Xavier, and two, Xavier is putting on a very good show of pretending to be recovered from the something that happened, but Logan has been around and seen some shit that no one should ever have to see, and going by all that, he’d say he’s pretty accurate if he were to guess that Xavier is not recovered in the slightest.

Logan met Xavier for all of ten seconds the first time around, but it was enough for him to get a gauge of the man’s character, to see the brightness in his eyes, note the spring in his step.  Looking at him now, it’s like he’s been cast by a shadow, and if Logan is going to leave Anna Marie here in this place, he needs to know exactly how long and deep that shadow is.

“What the fuck happened to you?”  Logan asks bluntly, as soon as the door closes behind Anna Marie and Angel.  He might be resistant to Xavier’s telepathy, whatever that means, but judging by the way Xavier has been watching him thoughtfully the past few moments, Logan is pretty sure he’s caught most of Logan’s past few thoughts and knows exactly what Logan means.

At that, though, Lehnsherr’s façade finally breaks ( _interesting_ , Logan thinks, _so that’s all it takes_ ) and he snarls, “None of your business.”

“Erik.” Xavier says, but he’s looking at Logan still.  His eyes are like goddamn lasers, if lasers could ever look that empty.  “Logan’s an adult, not one of the children.  If he wants to know—”

“It’s _none of his business_.”  Lehnsherr repeats.  They stare each other down, and it takes Logan a long moment to realize oh, fuck, they’re talking mind-to-mind.

“Are you leaving Anna Marie here?” Xavier asks abruptly.

Logan takes a moment to think on it.  “Yes,” he decides, “it’s the best place for her right now.”

Xavier looks to Lehnsherr.  “Then he’s an ally, Erik.”

Lehnsherr sighs.  “You don’t have to do this.  You don’t have to relive it for him.”

“No,” Xavier agrees, “I don’t.  But I think I need to.  I need to, ah,” and here he fumbles a little, “say it out loud, just this once.”  This is about the time Logan begins to feel very real dread.

Lehnsherr nods once, and Logan can see that his teeth are clenched.  “I’m here, Charles.”

Xavier gives a faint smile that actually really looks nothing like a smile at all.  “Yes, I know.”  He looks back at Logan.  “Would you still like to hear?”

Logan isn’t sure what’s going to be worse—what he’s about to hear, or that Xavier is going to use the detached, clinical tone he’s adopted in order to tell him.  Nevertheless, Logan finds himself nodding anyway.  He’s asked, damn it, so he can’t back down now.  Might as well go all in.

Xavier tells him, and Logan tries very hard not to be sick.

 

X

 

It takes a while for Charles to calm down but Erik is content to hold him throughout, torn between his old friend blind rage and then just breaking down himself; so affected by the distraught telepath in his arms.

Erik has plenty of old hurts, from watching his mother die to all of the long, torturous hours, days, months he spent under Shaw’s direct thumb, and while those have all long since ripped him wide, they’re at least all buried in the deep in the past now, where he can hide from them, but here and now, watching and _feeling_ Charles hurt, broken in ways that even Erik hadn’t been broken by Shaw, cuts Erik deeper than all the rest.

“Sorry,” Charles says at last, shifting a little in Erik’s grasp, his voice thick, “my five is nothing to your 23—”

“It’s not the same thing.”  Erik interrupts him.  He sounds a little harsher than he intended to, so he clears his throat.  “It’s not something to measure against.”

Charles says nothing for a few moments, breathing in and out.  “I think I would be proud of you,” he says quietly at last, and Erik can feel Charles flickering gently through his thoughts, “you’re not at peace, but you know it’s there.  You’ve tasted it.  I think that’s what I would have wanted.”

“Only because of you.” Erik tells him.  He cracks a smile.  “You’re right about the pieces.  We almost make something whole.”

Charles gives another ragged, rasping laugh, but this time he catches himself before he can deteriorate again, swallowing.  “It isn’t supposed to be like this.”

“No,” Erik agrees, “it’s not.  There are a lot of things that shouldn’t have ever happened.  But they did, and like you told me once, we can’t pretend that they haven’t.”

“Is it selfish of us?” Charles asks.  Erik lifts his head so that they’re looking at each other.  “What we’re going to do.  Is it selfish?  I don’t…”  Charles laughs weakly.  “I can’t tell anymore.”

“Any sort of motivations always have at least one selfish reason behind them, even if it’s intended to mean well.” Erik answers him, wearily wry.  “Our plan…on one hand, it could be considered extremely selfish and presumptuous of us.  But on the other, well…”  He gives a laugh of his own.  “We mean well.”

Charles chuckles, taking a deep breath.  “Alright.  Alright.”  The raw turmoil in his eyes is slowly fading, disappearing back into deep wells of blue, and five years of forced calm looks up at Erik.  Charles is back in control again.

Erik reaches up to touch Charles’ face.  “Shaw took a lot of things from me.  I used to think that he shaped me, made me into who I am.  But because of what you’ve shown me, before and even after and now, I know that I’m not Frankenstein’s monster.”

“No,” Charles says with a small, self-deprecating smile, “I am.”

 

X

 

Erik is there when the last dose of morphine fades and the first flickers of real lucidity begin to reform in Charles’ eyes.  It has been a long, hellish month but Hank feels that if they keep him on the drugs any longer, Charles runs the risk of becoming addicted.

That, and Erik doesn’t know if he can bear anymore to watch Charles flinch every time he catches sight of the syringe.

The first thing Charles says, staring up at the ceiling blankly, is, “Oh god, I’m awake.”  Arm and torso in casts, he looks small and delicate.  Perhaps he is.

“How do you feel?” Erik asks him.  “Is the pain manageable?”

“It’s funny you should say that,” Charles says, and his voice sounds off, “it’s funny you should mention that.  The pain.”

“Charles.” Erik says, lacking anything better.  It isn’t funny, not at all.

“It’s funny, because,” Charles says, his voice starting to choke up, “it doesn’t even matter.  I can feel it, but it doesn’t seem like it’s mine.  Is it mine?”  He laughs, a high nervous sound, and he shifts on the bed, panicky eyes meeting Erik’s.

Hank had warned Erik about this.  He’d theorized that Charles had been so calm up until now because of the near-continuous haze of morphine they’d kept him under.  It’d given Charles the excuse of not thinking about what had happened to him and letting go, but now as the morphine fades away and reality creeps back in, Erik can see that Hank was absolutely right.

“We’ll get through this, Charles.”  Erik says, taking the hand of the telepath’s good arm.  “You’ll pull through.  It’s over now.”

Charles grips his hand tightly and laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

 

X

 

Once they both feel that they’re presentable, cracked masks glued back together for the time being, Erik leads the way out of his office and down to the cafeteria in search of Hank and Sean, who Charles mentions were looking for him earlier when he’d been off base.

Charles falls into step beside him, still a little pale, but otherwise looks more put together than Erik feels, even though Erik knows that this is not the case.

Predictably, Sean is in the cafeteria while Hank is not.

“You find someone who has a cooking mutation or something?” Sean asks upon seeing Erik.  “Because this food is pretty swanky for being out in the middle of—”

“Would you stop using that word?” Angel demands while Alex sniggers.  The three of them are sitting at the end of one of the tables.  “It’s embarrassing to be around you when you—oh hello, Professor.”

“Charles tells me you were looking for me earlier?” Erik deadpans.  He will not admit that he is just as fond of their first class as Charles is.  He will not.

“Oh, right,” Sean agrees.  “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m getting a little stir-crazy up in here.  You mind if I like take a fly later or something?”

Erik frowns.  “Not here.  It’s too risky.  Azazel can take you to our training grounds and you can fly there.”

“That’d be perfect, dude.”  Sean nods fervently.  “I just need to let it out, you know?”

Erik exchanges a wearily amused look with Charles.  They’ve spent the last hour or so _letting it out_.

“I’ll go too,” Angel volunteers, giving Sean a smirk, “and we can turn it into a training exercise.”  She looks back at Erik.  “Unless you need me here for something.”

“No, you should all go.” Erik says when he glances at Alex and finds him looking interested.  “Get some practicing in.  There’s always room for improvement.”

“Erik’s right.”  Charles adds when, one-by-one, Angel, Alex, and Sean all glance at him expectantly.  He doesn’t sound very convincing, as if his thoughts are a thousand miles away.  _Or a million_ , he suggests.

 _Come back._   Erik thinks plainly.  “I’m always right.”

“Alright, we’ll go as soon as we’re done eating.” Angel says quickly with a grin, though she can’t stop herself from glancing at Charles one last time.  “You cats take it easy.”

“Hank is down in his lab,” Charles murmurs as they turn away, leaving Angel and Alex badgering Sean to eat faster.  “He wants to ask you about Cerebro.”

Erik had expected as much.  “We’ll start soon,” he promises as they step back into the hallway, “the longest process will just be gathering the right materials.  I wonder if it’s possible to downsize,” he muses, suddenly thoughtful, “make it smaller without affecting its functionality.”

“A better question for Hank, I’d imagine.” Charles returns absently.  “Oh, you have a phone call.”

A moment later, Avalanche rounds the corner of the hallway ahead of them and jogs towards them.  “Magneto, Professor.”  He gives Charles a small nod, carefully polite.  “You have a phone call, sir.  Giga is trying to trace its origins now.”

“And who’s on the line?” Erik asks.  Not very many people know the direct number of the base, and if Giga is trying to trace the call that means it’s not someone they’re readily familiar with.

Charles gives a light chuckle before Avalanche can answer.  “How bold.”

Avalanche glances at him nervously, but then looks back to Erik quickly.  “He calls himself Sunspot, sir.”

Erik is inclined to agree, it _is_ bold, though he’s not nearly as amused.  “Thank you, Avalanche.  I’ll take it in my office.  Inform me as soon as Giga has it traced.”  He knows exactly where it will be traced to, but it doesn’t hurt to check anyway.

“Yes sir.”

Erik sweeps down the hallway, hardly waiting for Avalanche’s confirmation.  He thinks that the motion would have been even more impressive if he had something like a cloak, or maybe a cape—

 _Oh for god’s sake_.  Charles is behind him, hands shoved into his pockets and following at a much more leisurely pace.  _You’re so dramatic_. 

Erik thinks that Charles is the most dramatic person on the planet, especially after he’s gotten a few drinks in him.

_The day you start wearing a cape, darling, is the day you start sleeping on the couch._

_Too bad there_ is _no couch_ , Erik projects back as he steps into his office, stopping to hold the door open for Charles.  He might have been a little heavy on the false cheerfulness, though, because Charles narrows his eyes at him as he passes.

_Yes, well, more’s the pity for you.  Enjoy the floor._

Erik snorts, letting the door swing shut and brushing past Charles fondly as he goes to take a seat behind his desk, pulling the phone towards him.  He doesn’t need a notepad, at least, because Charles will remember every single goddamn word that comes out of his mouth, and his thoughts to go with it.  Charles rolls his eyes but settles himself in the window, standing with his back to Erik, hands still shoved into his pockets.

Erik picks up the receiver.  “This is Magneto.”

“Magneto,” comes the reply in a rich accent, “this is Sunspot of Genosha.  It is an honor to speak with you.”

“Well, Sunspot of Genosha,” Erik replies coolly, “I wasn’t under the impression that we knew each other well enough to merit a personal phone call.”  He feels that he is justified in saying this; a note _and_ a phone call all on the same day are a bit forward.

Sunspot laughs, the sound loud and raucous over the phone.  “Ah, you are exactly as they say.  Never fear, Magneto, my intentions are entirely pure and for the good of mutantkind.”

“I’ll decide that for myself, if you’d be so kind.”

“Of course.  I am calling because I would like to personally invite you to Genosha,” Sunspot says, fiercely proud, “because I think you will like what you will see here.  It is a country built by mutants for mutants, and it is a place where we can all come together to stand tall and proud, so that we can say to the world, ‘look at us now.’”

“That certainly sounds ideal.” Erik says carefully, keeping his voice politely blank.

“Ah, but you would take more convincing than just that, I know.”  Sunspot sounds as if he is nodding.  “If you base your Brotherhood out of Genosha, Magneto, think of all the possibilities!  If Genosha is to be influential in any way, we will need a military.  Your Brotherhood could be the basis of that.  What better way to serve mutantkind?”

“That would be a noble undertaking.” Erik agrees calmly.  “You must understand, I support fully a community where mutants can gather safely.  But my goals—the Brotherhood’s goals—are to make that possible all around the world.  If all mutants were to retreat to Genosha, then humans would be permitted to continue on pretending that we do not exist, which is something that I cannot allow.”

“I would never dream of limiting you in any manner of way,” Sunspot says immediately, “I am a huge supporter of your work, Magneto, and I too agree that humans cannot be allowed to forget or overlook us for convenience’s sake.  But I also believe that if we all stand together, the humans will have no _choice_ but to see us.”

“That may be.”

“I know that you are a busy man,” Sunspot continues, “but consider taking some time to visit Genosha.  You and any Brotherhood members are always welcome here.  Together we can not only build this country, but we can also rebuild the way the world thinks of mutants.  Of course, I understand completely if you need time to think on this.”

“I’ll take it into consideration,” Erik replies, “but I can’t promise you anything as of yet.  As you said, I am a busy man.”

Sunspot laughs again.  “I would expect nothing less of the great Magneto.”

“I will contact you again when time permits.” Erik says, and after exchanging a few other meaningless niceties, he drops the receiver back into the cradle to hang up.  Erik leans back in his chair, rolling his shoulders.  “Eager, wasn’t he?”

Charles hasn’t moved a centimeter throughout the entire conversation and even now he remains still and silent, arms folded neatly behind his back.

Erik sits up again.  “Charles?”

“Erik,” comes the slow answer, as if Charles is working something out and isn’t entirely sure, “look.”

Erik’s on his feet and across the office in the blink of an eye.  Charles doesn’t acknowledge him, staring out the window, and Erik follows his gaze to several dots on the horizon that are growing larger and larger by the minute.  It doesn’t take long to make out what they are.

“I couldn’t figure out what they were at first,” Charles says distantly, “I thought they might be birds, but then they got closer and they seemed much too big.”  He stops and finally looks up at Erik.  “I can’t feel any thoughts coming from them.”

Erik looks at the helicopters drawing closer and closer.  He imagines that if they were outside, they’d be able to hear the angry drone of the propellers.  “Well, they’re not flying themselves,” he says grimly, watching as they sweep neatly behind a mountain peak, disappearing from view.  “We need to—”

He and Charles both pitch forward when a blast shakes the building, their hands smacking onto the glass to catch themselves, Erik nearly flattening Charles against the window.  Erik can hear people shouting, and the building trembles again with another blast.

“The lower level has been hit,” Charles says dreamily, no doubt gathering information from any relevant minds, “Psylocke and Crush are dead.”  His forehead is resting against the glass, his eyes closed.  “There were more helicopters that came around from the other side of the mountain.  Of _course_.  I can see them now.”  Whoever’s mind he’s in must be looking in the right direction.

Through the window over Charles’ shoulder, Erik can see the first fleet of helicopters flying back into view, circling around the peak and heading straight towards them.  “We’re surrounded.”  He peels himself off of Charles’ back, feeling his rage beginning to boil.  They’re under attack, but he’s going to ensure that this the shortest-lived attack in history.

“Ah,” Charles says, catching Erik’s thoughts idly, “helicopters are made of metal.”

 

X

 

Erik likes playing chess with Charles.

Charles is delighted that Erik plays, and challenges him to a game on one of the first nights they’re at the CIA base.  It soon becomes a nightly tradition, and they even find time for a game at several different points during their recruiting trip (the frequency of these games _might_ drop a little—well, a lot—after they start fucking, but Erik can hardly complain about _that_ ).  The routine even carries on when they arrive at the mansion, holing themselves up in the study for a little quiet time and privacy after a long day of instructing Raven, Hank, Alex, and Sean.

Erik likes playing chess with Charles because he likes to watch Charles focus on the board during their more heated matches, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed contemplatively, and he likes to listen to Charles talk about whatever comes to his brilliant mind during their more relaxed matches, idly sipping at drinks and enjoying each other’s company.  Sometimes they debate, sometimes they argue, sometimes they’re companionably quiet, sometimes the game is abandoned halfway through in favor of a makeout session that inevitably ends with them stumbling back to Charles’ room to finish what they started (except for the one memorable time where they finished right on the floor of the study).

Erik mostly likes playing chess with Charles, though, because he crushes the telepath every single time.


	7. You are the only ones who matter

“There now,” Shaw murmurs, his words drifting down like leaves—hard to catch—through the fog that has enveloped Charles, “that’s barely anything.  Did you know that by the time I was finished with Erik, it’d be hours before he’d start to scream?  He was so sturdy, even as a young boy.”

“Sick,” Charles chokes out, “you’re sick, you’re sick, you’re—”

“Honestly,” Shaw chides, “I made him strong.  I’m making _you_ strong.  Soon you’ll be thanking me.”  He holds up the empty syringe, admiring it in the too-bright light.  “Do you know that I injected you with a little something I’ve concocted myself?  It’s a hallucinogen cocktail made _just_ for telepaths.  Between this and the pain, it’s going to help you loosen up a little bit, mentally, so you and I can get to know each other very well.”  As he talks, his other hand inches up Charles’ arm and he presses down again.

Charles’ voice bottoms out this time, his mouth open in a wordless scream as his arm snaps a second time.  He’s full-out panicking now, and at this rate he’s going to hyperventilate as his chest heaves, every breath causing his ribs to grind against each other.  Spots are dancing across his already ruined vision, and Shaw is saying something, but he can’t hear, he can’t _think_ past drugs in his system and the pain—

Shaw is gripping his face, two fingers on either side of Charles’ temples.

His temples.  His mind.

“No, no, no, _please_ , no, no—” Charles is begging, Charles is _pleading_ , because he’s finally made the connection between what Shaw has been saying and what Shaw is doing now; Shaw, who has finally taken that damned helmet off but Charles is in too much pain and drugged half out of his mind to access his telepathy, to do something, anything—

“Shh.” Shaw shushes him soothingly.  “We’re nearly there.”

Charles feels Shaw’s mind settle like a heavy weight over his own, the drugs in his system dissolving the shields that keep his telepathy under wraps; it instinctively reaches out, grasping onto Shaw’s mind and drawing him in. 

Shaw’s presence is overwhelming, and Charles suddenly knows how it truly feels to drown.

 

X

 

Alex sprints up the stairs as the building shakes again, another blast rocketing into the side of the mountain.  People are screaming, shouting, moving in every direction but Alex shoves through them roughly, snarling curses where appropriate, and only vaguely aware of Sean and Angel hot on his trail.  He needs to get to Scott, and he needs to get to Scott _now_.

They burst through the classroom door to find all the children huddled together in the furthest corner, Jubilee hovering protectively in front of them.  She relaxes marginally when she recognizes them, but her voice is shaky as she asks, “What’s going on?”

“Alex!”  Scott darts across the room at once and Alex lets his little brother cling, fisting his hands tightly into the back of Scott’s shirt.  Scott is here in the middle of this, and Alex feels like he could suffocate.

“We’re surrounded by a bunch of helicopters,” Angel says grimly as the building shakes again, “not sure who they are yet.”  Her expression softens as she takes in the children.  “Hey, guys, it’s going to be alright.  We’re not going to let anything happen—”

She’s cut off when a rocket blows the hallway apart, screams and dust filling the air as the ground beneath them shudders, and Alex loses track of everyone else as he hoists Scott up and crushes their bodies together, holding on tightly through the chaos and confusion.  Several people are coughing and more are crying, and in his arms, Alex can feel Scott shaking.

 _Alex_.  The Professor’s voice cuts neatly through his wild thoughts.  Charles is icy with anger and Alex doesn’t envy whatever enemy runs into him first.  _Azazel is coming_.  Even as Charles speaks, Alex hears a distinct _poof_ from somewhere within the dust.  _He’ll take Scott and the others somewhere safe.  I need you, Sean, and Angel with us, please._

Thank god, Alex wants to say, but he gets that Charles feels that.  _You got it, Prof_.  Out loud, he calls, “Everyone hold hands!  Azazel’s going to get you guys out of here.”  The dust is slowly settling, even as more blasts echo from the other side of the base, and the room is coming back into view again.  “You too, Scotty.”

“No!”  Scott squirms as Alex puts him down again, shoving him across the rubble to where Azazel waits.  Angel and Sean are ushering the rest of the children over to Azazel as well, gentle and reassuring even as they work quickly.  “I want to stay with you, you can’t make me leave!”

“You’ve gotta go, buddy,” Alex says, giving Jubilee a grateful glance when she gently grasps Scott’s hand but otherwise keeping his eyes locked with his little brother’s, “I’ll catch up with you, promise.”

Scott tries to pull his hand away from Jubilee, and god _damn_ it, Alex can see his eyes tearing up behind the red goggles.  “Alex—”

Azazel gives Alex a nod and then teleports, and Scott disappears with everyone else in a cloud of red and black smoke.  He is _safe_.  Alex feels like he can breathe.

 _Observation deck_ , Charles murmurs, and then he’s gone as the entire mountain seems to tremble.

Alex turns back to Angel and Sean.  Whoever these fuckers are, they’re about to taste some retaliation.  “Let’s go.”

 

X

 

Raven is the first and only one brave enough to approach Erik after he’s reduced the satellite to something less like a dish and more like a ball of crumpled paper, marching over to where he’s standing, his clenched fists and the unspeakable fury written across his face keeping the rest of them far away.

Sean and Hank have shakily explained what has happened, and Moira is shocked and terrified while Alex is white-faced and gaping, but Raven just glares at Erik as she comes to a stop in front of him, flickering into her natural blue as she puts her hands on her hips.

“You were fucking him, weren’t you?”

Erik looks up at her sharply, and Alex has never seen the man look so thrown.  “What?”

“My brother,” she says through gritted teeth, “ _Charles_.  You two were fucking.”

“And if we were?” Erik snaps back, pretty much confirming it. 

“Of course you were.”  Raven rolls her eyes.  “God damn it.”

Alex is slightly disappointed because he now owes Sean ten bucks—but wait, what the fuck, who _cares_ right now, because the Professor has been taken by the fucking devil to Shaw, why are they even talking about this right now?

He keeps seeing flashes of Darwin, choking on a fiery inferno of condensed plasma energy, turning from solid steel to cracked stone to nothing but dust, and Alex practically wants to scream.  _Don’t you get it, Charles is probably already dead!_

Erik narrows his eyes at Raven and snarls, “If there’s a point to this, Raven—”

“Oh, there’s a point all right.”  Raven jabs a finger into his chest.  “Congratulations.  It’s now your job to fucking get Charles _back_.”

 

X

 

Angel lands next to the Professor, keeping her wings unfurled as she looks up at the helicopters hovering overhead, acid she longs to spit already pooling at the back of her mouth.  “Hello Professor.”

“Hello, my dear.”  Charles’ head is tilted back slightly as he too looks up at the helicopters with undisguised contempt, hands casually shoved into his pockets.  “Alex and Sean have met up with Hank.  They’ll be here soon.”

“Yeah.” Angel says with a nod.  That’d been the plan when they’d split up, Angel heading straight here while the boys opted for the longer route.  “These fuckers wearing helmets, Professor?”

“Unfortunately, this seems to be—” Charles begins.

A machine gun sprays a volley of bullets down at them and Angel can’t help the instinctive flinch, ducking down slightly and throwing up one arm across her face even though she knows that it won’t do a thing to stop the bullets from shredding her to pieces.

On Charles’ other side, Erik extends one hand.

Slowly, Angel straightens, lowering her arm cautiously.  They’re facing a wall of bullets that are at a dead standstill in midair, hovering in place like some sort of immobile bee swarm.

“Oh,” Charles says with a light chuckle.  He hasn’t moved an inch, head still tilted back as he looks up unblinkingly.  One bullet is hovering inches from his eye.  “They shouldn’t have done that.”

Erik sneers, and then sends the bullets shooting back in the direction they came from, returning fire mercilessly.  Angel watches as the bullets find their marks, shredding through the helicopters.  Men are shrieking and screaming, and a couple bodies fall, plummeting down through the air; one body lands with a sickening crunch on the deck only a few feet away.  One helicopter’s pilot must have been hit because the machine wobbles dangerously for a moment before spiraling completely out of control, roaring past to slam into the mountainside below in a fiery eruption that causes a rockslide.

Erik clenches his fist, and with a horrible, jarring screech of metal another helicopter folds in on itself, crumpling like paper with a spray of blood as the men still inside are crushed along with it, no time to even scream.  Gasoline ignites and the entire thing catches on fire, and Angel suddenly realizes that Magneto is literally holding a flaming wrecking ball as he slams it straight through the next closest helicopter, and this time Angel feels the blast of heat as it too becomes another flaming meteor screaming back down to earth.

Alex, Sean, and Hank arrive, clambering up onto the deck and jogging over to join them as Erik literally clears the sky, decimating the helicopters before they can so much as attempt to shoot again.

“Azazel’s almost got everyone evacuated.” Alex says.  He stares at the crumpled body a few feet away for a moment and Angel can tell it takes conscious effort for him to look away.  “He should be done soon and then everyone’ll be out.”

“Excellent.”  Charles brushes a bit of ash off of his shoulder calmly.

“How many are left?” Hank asks, peering around at the sky for any signs of more helicopters.  Angel can hear the sound of their blades chopping through the air, so they have to be close.

“Four.”  Erik answers at once.  He can probably feel them in the air.  He’s wearing a vicious smirk; eyes alight with a deadly sort of pleasure.  “They’re circling around.  Be ready, Alex.  They still have rockets left.  Time to practice your aim.”

Alex takes a deep breath, nodding as he steps forward to give himself some space.

Sure enough, two more helicopters circle around the side of the mountain.  They must catch sight of them all standing up on the deck right away because they both immediately launch rockets, the explosives screaming towards them through the air and Angel tastes fear again because what if they’re too fast—

Alex lets his plasma beams loose, smashing head-on into the rockets so that they erupt in midair, and this time the blast of heat blows Angel’s hair back, the air almost uncomfortably hot as fire lances through the air.  For a moment, all of her perception is filled with noise and heat, confusing and chaotic, and through it all she can still hear the distinct screech of metal as Erik smashes the two helicopters together before they can fire a second round.

“Well done, Alex.”  Charles says when the noise has died down.  “Spot on.”

Alex looks a little pale but he nods again.

“Awesome, man,” Sean claps him on the shoulder giddily, “wait till you tell Scott about how you blew those rockets out of the fucking air, man, he’s going to be so proud—”

Alex chokes out a laugh.  “As long as we don’t tell him what came after.”

 _Right_ , Angel thinks.  Alex, Sean, and Hank aren’t exactly onboard with all of the Brotherhood’s ideals.  They’re here for the Professor, and because they want to hunt down Shaw.  Angel thinks that’s sweet, but foolishly sentimental.  She knows better.  She’s seen how ugly humans really are.  Death is a kindness.

The last two helicopters are coming around from the other direction now, and Angel knows that this is as good as over.  Do they honestly think they have a single chance?  Do they not realize why and how their fellows have been ripped out of the sky?

“Angel,” Charles says pleasantly, “be a dear and fetch one for me?  Preferably an officer, if you can manage, that would be _lovely_.”

Angel smiles, her wings starting to flutter.  “Anything you want, Professor.”

 

X

 

The Professor has been gone for three days and Sean thinks that Erik is going to lose his mind.

Obviously he and the Professor had been pretty tight—well, Sean will be collecting ten bucks from Alex sooner or later solely because they’d been even more than tight—and Sean knows that Erik has some kind of personal vendetta against Shaw so this is probably only adding fuel to that particular fire, but as each long day passes Erik seems more and more _panicked_ that any trace of Charles or Shaw has yet to be discovered no matter how many times Moira checks the CIA database or Erik goes through Shaw’s file in an attempt to piece together something, trying desperately to discern where Shaw could possibly be.

They have _nothing_ , and Erik looks like he’s living a nightmare.

Erik is someone Sean has never imagined that he’d see this emotionally raw, and it’s sort of scaring the shit out of him.

Raven is still the only one who doesn’t flinch every time Erik walks into a room or spends more than two minutes with him at any given point.  She’s sort of scaring the shit out of Sean too because she hasn’t broken down once yet, even though it was her fucking _brother_ who’s been taken, and Sean knows from the experience of having a lot of sisters that the longer she puts it off, the bigger her meltdown will be when she finally cracks.

She is good at expressing her anger, at least.  If she’s not trying to talk Erik down from committing something like mental suicide, she’s screaming at him, blaming him, ripping him verbally apart until her voice is hoarse.  And Erik just _takes_ it, sits there with his head in his hands, looking like he hates himself and the world and everything in it.

Sean honestly doesn’t know what they’re going to do without the Professor.  Clearly he’d been the only thing keeping Erik from going psycho on them all, and he’d been a good liaison with Moira between them and the CIA.  Sean is ashamed to think it, because he knows it’s terribly selfish, but he’s also sort of worried that he won’t have any place to go if Charles really is…

And then Angel comes back.

She literally crash lands in the driveway, weak with fatigue, and it takes Sean and Hank both to hold Alex back from attacking her as he screams at her about Darwin.  Erik’s on her in a second, the front gates of the driveway unraveling and winding around her throat.

“Wait,” she says, panting, her voice straining as the metal slowly tightens, “I came—to tell you—where they are.  I _swear_.”

“Who?” Raven demands, arms folded.  For the first time in three days, her voice is shaky.

“Shaw and Charles.” Angel says, looking up at her defiantly.  She’s too proud to beg, even with metal wrapped around her throat.

“Why?”  Raven snaps.  “Get cold feet?”

“Wouldn’t—you?”  Angel snaps.  She’s still panting, and she looks exhausted.  Wherever she’d flown from, it’d been no small distance.  “Shaw said—it’d be us against—the _humans_.  But then—he brought back Charles.”

Raven makes a small strangled sound, and even as he grips Alex tightly, Sean shudders, his heart sinking.  That can’t mean that anything good has been happening to the telepath.

“If you are lying,” Erik says through gritted teeth, “I will rip you apart.  Slowly.”

Angel gives him a weary smile.  “I know.”

 

X

 

It doesn’t take Angel long.  Erik has trained her well.

He easily repels any of the bullets the humans dare to shoot at her as she shoots towards the helicopters, extending his power to envelope both the machines, holding them steadily in the air.  He still feels flooded with hot rage, hardly banked by the cold satisfaction he’s gained from destroying all the other helicopters.

Angel reaches the first helicopter, and Erik sees her spit a bright glob of acid before disappearing inside.

This means the second helicopter is now superfluous.

He feels out the shape of the second helicopter, taking hold of every single bolt and rivet, feeling along every single soldered edge.  Then he pulls, ripping the bolts and rivets out and tearing open the soldering like paper, and the machine goes to pieces in midair, falling apart.  Metal rains down, along with a few kicking, struggling men who scream as they plunge to their deaths far below.

“ _God_ ,” Sean mutters somewhere behind him.

“Us or them, Sean.”  Erik says loudly, eyes trained on the remaining helicopter.  “They just shot a rocket at you.”

Angel emerges again, dragging a soldier by one arm, wings beating fiercely as she lets his flailing weight drag her down in a sort of controlled drop.  Once she’s entirely clear of the helicopter, Erik melts it, superheating the metal in the blink of an eye and turning it to liquid, letting it contort in midair for a few long moments before finally letting it fall from sight.

Angel dumps the lone surviving human on the ground in front of them, and Erik throws out an arm to catch her and stop her momentum.  “Well done.”

“Thanks, Magneto.”  Angel steps back out of his grasp proudly, tucking her hair behind her ears.  “He’s all yours, Professor.”

Erik looks down at the human as he struggles to sit up.  Not an American, if the uniform is anything to go by; it looks like he’s from Bolivia judging by the insignia and flag patch on his shoulder.  He’s spitting curses at them, and it takes all of a second for Erik to flick the helmet he wears off his head.

Erik _feels_ Charles slam into the human mentally with the force of a freight train.

The human actually falls backwards again, looking dazed.  He isn’t screaming yet, but with Charles that doesn’t mean a thing.  As Erik watches, the human’s face contorts, mouth falling open but still no sound escapes.

“You’re right,” Charles murmurs, eyes half-lidded and trained on the human, “Bolivian.  Orders patched through last night.  Tell me what you know.”  The last part is addressed to the doomed soldier in a musing whisper.

The soldier starts babbling in Spanish, and Erik narrows his eyes.  He knows enough Spanish to understand.

“Oh god, oh god, the orders, they said nothing about this—demons, monsters—they just gave us coordinates and told us to go, kill everyone that we find, there are terrorists in the mountains—oh god, everyone, everyone is—”  He breaks off with a scream, twisting on the ground like a worm.

“The orders came through strange.” Charles says distantly.  He’s still reading the man’s mind.  “They were delivered along with these helmets.  Why do we need these helmets?  Why are we going into Brazilian territory, does this mean war—”

The soldier screams again, long and loud and leaving room for little imagination as to how much agony Charles is making him feel.  Blood is leaking from the human’s nose, and Erik watches another thin stream drain from his ear.  Angel and Alex stare impassively, but Hank and Sean look away.

“ _Frost_.” Charles hisses suddenly.  “She was there, I can see her.”

“So this was Shaw.”  There would never be enough helicopters for Erik to express his anger.  “Using humans to attack us.  _Again_.”

“Driving us out of our refuge again.” Charles murmurs, contemplative.  “Where are you herding us to, Sebastian?”  The soldier is curled in on himself, making a low moaning sound that is more animal than human.

“We have to go after him,” Alex says at once, “we can’t keep running.”

“He wants to meet you guys on his terms.” Angel says, folding her arms.  “He’s finally come back out of whatever shithole he’s been hiding in, and now he’s _after_ you.”

“Yes.” Charles says distantly, not bothering to deny it.  The soldier’s entire body is twitching, shaking as if having a fit.  There’s no telling what, exactly, the telepath is doing to his mind.  “That’s why I asked you all to stay here.”

Erik looks at them.  Alex, Hank, Sean, Angel.  They’re still just the kids who he and Charles gathered for the CIA five years ago, but they’re also more.  They’ve grown.  They’re stronger.  They’re ready.

Which is why they must never, ever know.

Charles lifts his gaze from the soldier to exchange a glance with Erik.  _Maybe one day they’ll understand_ , he whispers, _but not today_. 

The thought is gut-wrenching and painful.  They are the family that Erik never quite got to have.  He trusts them in ways that he’d once thought he’d never be able to trust others again.  Which is why, which is enough reason…

 _Yes_.  Charles says softly.  _Yes_.

Erik can’t think about it right now.  Just looking at Charles makes it hurt more, somehow, even though the telepath knows.  Understands.  “Listen,” he says, meeting each of their gazes again, “we’re going to a place called Genosha.”

“The mutant country?”  Angel raises her eyebrows.

“The one and only.”  Charles replies.

“I’ve heard rumors about it.”  Angel says.  “People talk.  Everyone wants to go there.  It’s supposed to be like a paradise.”

“I’ve been personally invited by its current leader, Sunspot.”  Erik says.  “He’s said that Genosha will always welcome the Brotherhood, so that’s where Azazel has taken everyone.”

Sean laughs.  “Well let’s hope he meant it, then.”

“We want you to be on your guard.” Charles says idly.  The soldier is making choking sounds.  “More so than usual.”

“You think Shaw _wants_ you in Genosha.”  Alex says suddenly, eyes widening slightly.  Erik makes a small noise of approval, giving him a nod; he’s catching on fast.

Charles gives Alex a faint, absent smile.  “Almost dead certain.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Sean says, waving his hands around for a moment, “why are you doing exactly what he wants?”

“Because it’s a game.”

“It’s _not_ a game.” Alex snarls.  “Professor.”

Charles merely huffs out a chuckle, and the soldier gives another piercing shriek of agony.  Erik is half-surprised that he’s still alive; even with how he is now, Charles rarely draws things out this long.

Angel narrows her eyes, looking at Erik.  “Whatever the hell it is, you plan to win, right?”

Erik shows his teeth in a grin.  “At all costs.”

“Why are you telling only us this?” Hank asks at last.  The scientist has been quietly absorbing everything up until now, and Erik wonders what conclusions he’s drawn; if he’s begun to guess.  “Why not Avalanche and your other advisors as well?”

“Because, my dear boy,” Charles says calmly as Azazel reappears, “you are the only ones who matter.”

 

X

 

Shaw is in Texas.

“You flew all the way here from Texas?” Sean demands shrilly.  They’ve moved indoors, and everyone is seated around the kitchen table.  Sean’s voice makes the glass in the nearby windows rattle ominously.

Angel is already on her third glass of water, and Moira is silently sliding a plate of food in front of her.  “Yes.”  She seems too tired to elaborate much.

“How did you know where to find us?” Raven demands.

“I don’t know how Shaw found out.” Angel admits.  She takes another drink.  Her wings haven’t folded back down yet; maybe she’s too tired to do it properly.  “But then it was common knowledge for everyone that this is where you were, because he sent Azazel and…you know the rest.”

“What does he want with Charles?” Raven asks after a long pause.

“I don’t know entirely.” Angel replies hesitantly.  “He was pretty angry when he found out that you’d captured Emma.”  She nods to Erik without quite looking at him.  “And this whole past month he’s been pretty obsessed with meeting Charles.”  She stops, takes a shaky breath.  “I thought he just wanted to _meet_ Charles, mutant-to-mutant.  But as soon as Azazel dragged Charles back, Shaw just went nuts.  We were on this submarine, but suddenly we like _had_ to get to this place in Texas.  I got a weird vibe as soon as we got there.  Something isn’t right about that place.  So I looked at a map where Westchester is and took off.”

Erik stands so abruptly that his chair nearly topples backwards.  “We need to get to Texas.  Now.”

“Hold up, cowboy.”  Raven snaps, levering him with an impressive glare.  “I want Charles back just as much as you do, but we can’t just run to Texas.”  She takes a shaky breath.  “We can’t afford to just mess this up.”

Sean wonders how she’s doing it.  She’s glaring at Erik fucking Lehnsherr, Nazi hunter extraordinaire, and she’s _still_ keeping her cool about Charles.  Sean thinks that if one of his sisters had been kidnapped, he’d be a fucking mess by now, and as it stands his reaction upon hearing where Shaw is keeping Charles was much closer to Erik’s—he thinks they should get to Texas, pronto.

“Raven is right,” Moira says, “we need to gather more intel, we need an actual plan—”

“Shaw has had Charles for three days.”  Erik’s voice is utterly emotionless, and everyone in the kitchen goes very still.  “I know what Shaw is capable of in three hours.  I am leaving _now_.”

“And how are you going to get there?” Moira demands.  She’s close to losing her patience even though Sean can tell she’s just as desperate as they all are.  “Drive?  If you give me two hours, I can talk to my superiors, get a full raid detail—”

“No,” Raven interrupts, “we’re not relying on the CIA for this, Shaw’s run circles around you all for years now—”

“If I have to drive, I will,” Erik is snarling, “it’s far better than just continuing to sit here and—”

Hank clears his throat.  “Um.  I have a solution.”

Everyone goes quiet.  Hank is the last person Sean ever expected to speak up.  The scientist has been very quiet these past three days, and has kept himself buried in his lab more than usual.  Sean had thought it was mainly to avoid all the arguments, but Hank’s got a fiery look in his eyes that Sean hasn’t seen before.

“Last year I designed and built a plane,” Hank says, “and it’s called the Blackbird.”

 

X

 

Azazel teleports, taking Angel, Alex, Hank, and Sean with him, and then they are alone.

Charles takes a step back at once.  “You can’t make me.”

Erik resists the urge to sigh.  The adrenaline from the attack has worn down, his rage drained away for now, so he’s left feeling a little weary.  “No, I can’t.  But the Blackbird is destroyed, Charles, so I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Charles’ gaze darts to the side and he wraps his arms around himself.  “God, Erik, I can’t.  I can do anything else you want but this.”  From the ground, the soldier gurgles.  Erik is willing to hazard a guess that not much is left of his mind.

“Why don’t you start with finishing that off.”

“Oh.”  Charles sounds mildly surprised.  “Right.”  He glances at the soldier, almost as an afterthought, and the human suddenly goes completely slack, a puppet whose strings have been cut.

“We’re going to have to teleport off this mountain.” Erik says firmly, stepping forward so that he and Charles are close again.

“Didn’t you hear me?”  Charles laughs the high, nervous sound that Erik hates to hear him make.  “I bloody well can’t, you know that.”

“I know.” Erik says softly, reaching up to grasp the telepath gently by the shoulders.  Charles is shaking slightly.  “I know you can’t.”

Charles has explained this to Erik once.  As a telepath, Charles has extraordinary compartmentalizing skills when it comes to his own mind—so much so that it nearly comes down to micromanaging.  After Erik had rescued him, he’d been most worried that Charles would suffer from enormous mental repercussions, especially given what Shaw had done to him, but Charles had explained to him that he could, in essence, control how he processed the entire thing.

Erik thinks this is both useful and damaging in equal turns.  Useful because it allowed Charles to recover abnormally fast—not to mention that Erik has a feeling that it kept Charles from literally losing his mind and becoming a babbling mess—even with the amount of damage Shaw wrought.  Damaging because Erik thinks that, much like the morphine, it allowed Charles to not think about it at all.

In fact, Erik _knows_ this was the case because after Charles’ initial breakdown upon being taken off the morphine, the telepath kept up a rather good show of being unaffected until exactly the two year mark.  Erik still recalls that particular day with brutal clarity even though he really wishes he couldn’t.

But, regardless of how well Charles managed to square everything that had happened with Shaw away in his mind, there was one thing that he seemingly couldn’t—Azazel and his teleportation.

Over the years Charles has come up with dozens of theories, mostly centralizing around the fact that while his coping mechanisms are far superior than those of the average, normal mind he still can’t just block everything out (well, he technically could if he wanted to try experimenting with erasing his own memory, which Erik had instantly forbidden—some things are better left untouched, no matter how tempting).

In the simplest of terms, Charles’ mind had fixated on the fact that the one and only time he’d ever teleported with Azazel, he had been dropped directly into a situation that had nearly cost him his sanity.  That led to the telepath developing a strong aversion to ever doing it again.  It had taken Erik some time to wrap his own mind around the concept—that Charles was technically more afraid of Azazel than of Shaw, despite the fact that it was Shaw who had done all the real damage.

“I’d rather be afraid of a little poofing around,” Charles had told him at one point, when he’d been very far from sober, “than be afraid of Shaw.”  Erik had been pretty far from sober himself then too, but thought this was a fair enough assessment and had been content enough to leave it alone after that.

Until now, when they’re standing on top of a mountain in the ruins of Erik’s base with no way down except for Azazel’s convenient ability.

“You know that it only lasts for a second, not even.” Erik continues quietly, giving Charles’ shoulders a gentle squeeze.  “And I’ll be right along with you.  Maybe you can’t do this, Charles, but you certainly must.”

“I am tired of doing what I must.”  Charles mumbles.  In another life, he would sound petulant.  Here he only sounds what he is—tired.

“We’re almost there.”  Erik isn’t sure how many times he’ll have to repeat it before he starts to actually believe it either.  “We’re so close now.”

Charles gives a faint, wry smile.  “Hank is beginning to suspect us.”

“Hank is brilliant.”  They’re alone, so it’s alright for Erik to sound fond.  “That brain of his is nearly bigger than yours.”

“Oh, it _is_ bigger than mine.  He’ll do great things, if we could only just get the poor boy set up in a lab again.”  Charles sounds rueful. 

“Yes, this one didn’t last very long at all, did it?”  Erik grimaces.  “How much does he actually suspect?”

“He doesn’t have any concrete thoughts yet on the matter, but he’s getting there.” Charles answers slowly.  “I won’t let him figure it out, Erik.”

His words settle heavily between them.  Erik clears his throat.  “The plan remains the same.”  They hadn’t had time to discuss things once the base had started being bombed.  They’d come to the snap decision that Genosha was the only place to go at nearly the same time, but now that the dust has settled, literally and figuratively, they can deliberate.

Charles nods.  “Nothing changes.  We do what we’ve mean to do all along.  It’s probably even more necessary now, what with Genosha.  And the children _cannot know_.”  He has been adamant about this from the start, after all.

Erik agrees.  It will be painful enough as it is.  Still…  “This morning you asked me if what we’re doing is selfish, and I told you that at least we mean well.”

Charles catches on at once and gives another faint smile.  “They’re not going to think so, are they?”

Erik chuckles.  “No, I’d imagine not.”

“It’s alright.”  Charles’ gaze shutters.  “They’ll understand one day.”

Erik wants to point out that he and Charles won’t be giving them much of a choice, but that’s neither here nor there.  Frankly, he’s ready to rest too, when all of this is finally done.

“You think you can divert my attention,” he says instead, “but it isn’t going to work.  We have to teleport, Charles.”

“Can’t I just stay here?” Charles asks, though his voice doesn’t hold much conviction.  “You could send postcards.  Visit occasionally.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”  Erik says irritably, but Charles is looking a little wide-eyed again so he pulls him in close, dropping his arms down around Charles’ back.  Erik knows this isn’t something he can fault the telepath and his brilliant, brilliant mind for.  “Listen.  Just shut your eyes now and keep them that way until it’s over.”  He pauses, and then adds gently, “I can’t do much more than this, short of knocking you unconscious, but I think that will just make things worse.”  Not to mention he doesn’t want to in the slightest.

“No, you’re right.”  Charles’ voice is muffled on the account that he has his face buried in Erik’s shoulder, his grip on Erik’s shirt knuckle white.  “Just get it over with, please.”  His breathing is coming a little unevenly.

“I’ve got you, Charles.”  Erik says.

Charles gives a borderline-hysterical laugh.  “Please don’t say that.”

Erik winces.  “Right.”  He whistles for Azazel, long and loud.

The Russian appears instantly, and Erik is silently grateful that he chose to arrive on the other side of Erik, away from Charles.  Azazel might not remember exactly why Charles has such a strong aversion to his ability, but he at least knows when not to push it.

Charles tenses up at the sound of Azazel’s arrival, so Erik shifts him in his arms, nodding to Azazel once, so that the Russian puts one hand on Erik’s shoulder.  “I’m not letting go this time, Charles.”

Azazel doesn’t even give Charles time to respond, teleporting with a loud _crack_.

Charles seizes Erik tightly, but it’s already over—they’ve arrived.  Erik lets him cling, though, giving him however much time he needs.  Azazel lets go of Erik’s shoulder and is gone in the blink of an eye.

“See?”  Erik murmurs into Charles’ hair, pressing his lips down into the unruly curls lightly.  “Still here.”

“You are.”  Charles admits shakily.  Silently, his thoughts echo his words with, _Thank god_.  “Never make me do that again.”

“You have my word.”

Charles takes a deep breath, visibly steeling himself, and then loosens his grip on Erik’s shirt and steps back.  “Now what?”

Erik looks around for the first time since they’ve arrived.  They’re standing outside on a dock that extends out over beautiful blue water, the sky clear and the sun bright.  It is hot here compared to the mountaintop they just left, and instead of silence Erik hears the gentle rush of waves, the slightly abrasive cries of seagulls, and what sounds like a…market?

Charles is looking in the other direction and he suddenly stiffens, the movement slight and hardly perceptible, but Erik knows him well so he turns around to see what Charles is looking at.

Raven stands at the juncture of the dock and dry land only a few paces away, watching them with a small, wry smile.  “Hello Charles.”

 

X

 

Hank admires Raven.

He has held himself under no illusions these past three days—Raven is the only reason Erik hasn’t abandoned them yet to search for Shaw and Charles on his own.  Hank has seen the man’s file back when they were all still at the CIA base—he’s a loner, and he’s been doing things his own way for nearly his entire life.

Charles is really the only one who has kept Erik anchored to their ragtag team of misfits, and in his absence, Raven has stepped up and proved herself more than adequate at filling his shoes.

Hank fires up the plane, running another quick check through all the systems.  He knows the Blackbird inside and out so this should be cake.  Flying from Virginia to Texas will be a breeze for this baby.

Still, Hank is nervous.  Mostly about what awaits them in Texas.  The drive from Westchester to the government landing strip in Virginia where the Blackbird had been waiting had been tense.  Angel had given them as much of a lowdown on the Texas safe house as she could, and at one point Erik had nearly—though inadvertently—crushed the car.  Sean and Alex aren’t helping—the former is a ball of nervous energy while the latter is that plus a side of murderous—while Moira is still trying to formulate some kind of plan, even having finally accepting Erik and Raven’s very fierce refusal to use any form of CIA help, and Angel is just plain exhausted and getting snappish for it.

Thankfully, everyone is settled down now, or at least as much as they can be.  Hank guides the Blackbird through an effortless takeoff, and then they’re on the way.  Sean and Alex are strapped into the seats towards the back of the plane, with Moira still bombarding Angel with more specific questions about their destination a couple seats over.

Erik and Raven, however, have buckled into the seats directly behind Hank’s cockpit, and now that they’re in the air and things are quieter, he can hear them talking.

“—going to be Charles or Shaw,” Raven is saying, her voice low but tense, “so which is it, Erik?”

“I’ve been hunting Shaw for 18 years now.” Erik says harshly, but he too keeps his voice down.  They must not want anyone to overhear.  “I already missed my closest chance in Miami.  I’m not going to make that mistake again.”

“And what about Charles?”  Raven hisses.  “That’s it, then?”

“If I kill Shaw, it’ll be over.”  Erik snaps.  “Charles will be safe.”

“You’re a stupid idiot if you think it’ll be that simple.  We don’t even know what he’s done to Charles.”  The _if he’s even still alive_ part goes unsaid.

“I am going to kill Shaw.” Erik says stubbornly.  “I never wanted this to happen, Raven.  But I can’t let anything get in the way again now.”

Raven sighs heavily.  It’s the sigh of someone who is much older.  “Do you love him?”

For a moment Hank is confused and thinks she means Shaw, but Erik says swiftly, “It’s none of your business what Charles and I—”

“Oh, you’d better believe that it’s my business.”

Now it’s Erik’s turn to sigh.  “Just because you’re his sister—”

“We’re not blood related, alright?” Raven snaps, and Hank is surprised by her outburst.  He almost wants to glance back to see if it’s drawn the attention of Moira and the others but then he remembers that he’s probably not supposed to be hearing this either.

Erik is silent for a long beat.  “You’re in love with him.”

Raven takes too long to answer, and Hank is suddenly gripping the controls of the plane far more tightly than is strictly necessary.

“And if I am?”  When she does finally speak again, her voice is almost fierce, as if daring Erik to make a comment, to judge.

“Raven, I…”  Erik sounds at a complete loss for words.

“You didn’t know.”  Hank can picture her shaking her head, trying to be proud and dismissive even though it must hurt.  “ _He_ doesn’t know.”  She laughs then, and this is when Hank realizes that since this began, she has only actually referred to Charles as her brother once.  Since then it’s just been _Charles_.  “Why else do you think I don’t let him read my mind?”

“Raven…”

Raven must see something in Erik’s expression, because she suddenly goes, “Don’t you dare apologize.  Not to me, and not for this.  Not for making Charles the happiest I think I’ve seen him in years.”  She laughs again, mirthless and weary, and Hank hears a dull thud—she’s probably tilted her head back against the wall of the plane.  “Charles is a sanctimonious, arrogant asshole sometimes, but I also don’t think I’ll ever meet anyone else who is so ready to, I don’t know, offer you the clothes off his back or something equally ridiculous and caring.”

Hank finds himself smiling despite himself.  That’s Charles, alright.

“No,” Erik agrees slowly, “I don’t think we ever will.”

“When he first took me in, he went to great lengths in convincing his mother that she had a daughter and I was his sister.”  Raven says softly.  “And back then we were little so I thought nothing of it.  I was just so relieved to have somewhere safe to sleep, food to eat, and a friend who was _different_ like me.  Agreeing to be his sister was the easiest thing I’d ever done.”

“And then you grew up.”  Erik says quietly.

Raven laughs.  “And then we grew up.  And Charles is so likeable, so nice all the time, so brilliant, and we thought we were the only two like us—the only two mutants—in the whole world, so it got really easy for me to remember that we weren’t _actually_ brother and sister.  But Charles is never anything less than a noble gentleman so then I got scared and I remember thinking, what if he doesn’t like me?  What if he overhears me thinking like this and kicks me out because he still only wants to be my brother?  So I made him promise not to read my mind.”

“And he agreed.”

“Of course he did.  He was confused and a little hurt, maybe, but I wasn’t going to take anything less than a full promise, so he agreed.  And that was the end of it.”  Raven sighs.  “My secret was safe.  I could go on secretly liking him more than I should and he could go on pretending that he was my brother and feel responsible for me in an utterly platonic way.  Ugh.”  She laughs again, more dry than anything else.  “I hated myself for awhile, I think.  I couldn’t just be normal.  I’m blue with scales, and I was in love with my brother.

“I tried getting over him for years but we live together, goddamn it, so it’s not like I could avoid him.  If I’m honest, it’s not like I tried very hard anyway or actually really wanted to.  But then we meet you, and I think hey, maybe this is someone who I can—but nope.  Turns out Charles got to you first, that asshole.”

“I, er…”  Erik actually sputters, and Hank would normally want to see Erik’s expression for purely scientific reasons if he weren’t so busy feeling utterly crushed by what Raven’s just said.

Raven laughs, and this time the sound is more easy-going.  “Hey, it’s alright.  It was only for a second.  It’s unfair how handsome you both are, you know?  Figures you’d be fucking each other senseless.”  Hank’s ears are burning just listening.  “And anyway, I think I’m getting better.  I’ve found someone else now, for real this time.”  For the first time Raven sounds almost shy.  Hank perks up, listening intently, but unfortunately she doesn’t elaborate.  “So I’m not jealous of you or anything.  Really, I’m just happy for you both.  You like _fit_ together, if that makes any sense.  It’s weird, but it just sort of works.”

“I’m glad we have your approval.”  Erik says flatly.

“You’d better be,” Raven says back without missing a beat, “because I’m Charles’ sister and I’m not going to just hand him over to some asshole.”

There’s a pause, and when Erik speaks again, Hank can hear an honest-to-god smile in his voice.  “Then to answer your question, yes.”  He pauses, his voice getting a little shaky.  “I’m in love with him.”

Hank sort of wants to burrow down and hide somewhere.  This is what he gets for eavesdropping on private conversations—Magneto, of all people, confessing his love.  It would be so weird if it weren’t also oddly so sweet.  Maybe Hank is a little too sentimental for his own good.

“You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”  Raven is definitely smiling; he can hear it in her voice too.  “Jesus.  I bet you two are so sappy together.”

Erik coughs.  “That’s enough, Raven.”

“Fine, fine, you’re right.  I actually probably don’t want to know.”  Raven concedes.  Then her voice hardens.  “But fuck you if you think I’m going to let you go after Shaw and leave Charles.  If you get yourself killed, so help me whenever I finally die I will find you and make your afterlife or whatever _miserable_.”  It would sound funny if she wasn’t so deadly serious.  “What the hell has Charles been preaching at you all along?  We’re all a team now.  We’re a goddamn family.  We will help you get Shaw, don’t you ever fucking doubt that.  But right now, what’s more important?  Your revenge, or Charles?”

Erik is silent for a long moment.  Hank realizes that he’s holding his breath, and it’s a struggle not to let it out in one big gust that’ll surely draw their attention.

“Your chance will come,” Raven says gently into the silence, “we’ll hunt that fucker down to the ends of the earth if we have to, and we’ll all hold while you punch.”

“Charles,” Erik says at last, and he sounds relieved and Hank feels relieved, “it’s always been Charles.”

 

X

 

“Mystique.”  Charles says, perfectly polite and the epitome of courteous.  “Lovely to see you.  I think I’m going to take a walk.”  And with that, he’s brushing past her and stepping off the dock, walking away without further word—Erik can only watch as the telepath quickly disappears in what appears to be a bustling marketplace on the edge of a town.

Raven watches him pass, her golden eyes unblinking before they flicker back to Erik.  “I’m glad to see you again, Erik.”

“Mystique.”  Erik greets her cordially, but then he steps forward and pulls her into a hug.

Raven laughs, limber blue arms reaching up to wrap around him.  “I’ll always just be Raven to you.”  She squeezes him tightly for a moment.

“Raven, then.”  Erik lets her go, stepping back to survey her.  “You look well.”

She grins.  “Thanks.  The climate here really agrees with me.”  She motions to the town behind her.  “All mutants, Erik.  Isn’t it great?”

“It is a marvel,” he admits.  There will be time for admiring the town later, though.  “Are you the official welcoming committee?”

Raven smiles again.  “Right down to business.  I am.  I might’ve put in a special request, since it was you coming.”  She grows serious.  “Your people are safe.  We were a little surprised when Azazel—” she nods to the red mutant who still waits patiently, “—here started popping in with all sorts of people, but your lieutenant Avalanche was able to explain.  I’m sorry about your base.”

Erik shakes his head.  “It’s of little consequence if everyone is safe.”  Mostly everyone.  There have been casualties, but there will be time for mourning later.  “We have a lot to catch up on.”  He knows that he can trust her.  “It wasn’t just humans that attacked our base.”

Raven nods once.  “We do in fact.  But first, let’s get you acclimated.  I’ll show you where your people are, they’ll want to see you.  And so will _my_ people.  Sunspot is dying to meet you.” 

“I was rather afraid of that.” Erik says dryly.  “Your people, is it?”

“Well, Sunspot’s in charge.”  Raven answers with a shrug.

It’s very surreal, seeing her again, especially after all that’s happened in the past two days alone.  Erik feels greatly displaced, something that he hasn’t felt in a long time.  “I’m glad you’re here, Raven.”

She grins cheekily.  “C’mon.  Time for the tour.”

 

X

 

A little over a year later, Erik and Charles disappear one day, and they don’t come back for a week.

Hank knows that they’ve taken the Blackbird because they’ve said as much, but they refused to say what they were doing or where exactly they’re going.

“We should be back in, oh, say a day,” Charles says absently, “but don’t worry if we’re longer.”

Erik stonewalls any attempts of further questions, threatens to murder them all if they come back to find the house destroyed, and without a backwards glance the both of them are out the door and gone in less than a minute.

“We should throw a rockin’ party.” Sean remarks as they all watch the car pull away from the mansion.

“That only works if we had enough friends to throw a party, stupid.”  Alex says dryly.  He’s been trying to tone down his language for the sake of Scotty, who is currently holding his hand and listening to every word coming out of Alex’s mouth adoringly.  So far results have been mixed at best.

“Dude,” Sean says wonderingly, “I meant a party just for us.”

Alex rolls his eyes and says, “Come on, Scotty, let’s go practice some more reading.”

“What?” Sean calls down the hallway after them.  “I think it’s a good idea!”

“Here, Ororo,” Hank says kindly to the little girl who is watching them all with wide eyes, “let’s play chemistry.”

A day passes, and there’s still no sign of Erik and Charles.  Hank isn’t particularly worried about them, per say—they’re both grown adults who are more than capable of taking care of themselves.  He’s more worried that they somehow really will burn down the house while Erik and Charles are gone, and then Erik really will have to murder them.

“Dude, bets on where they went.”  Sean says on the third night.  “I bet they’ve gone somewhere tropical to have loads of sex.”

Hank nearly drops the plates of food he’s carrying out of the kitchen for Ororo and Scott—because someone has to make sure they actually eat a real meal.  “Really, Sean?” he grumbles.  He’s totally fine with Erik and Charles being, well, Erik-and-Charles, but he’s always been one for keeping private matters private.

“Maybe they’re recruiting.”  Alex says disinterestedly.  He’s flipping through the channels on the TV.  “They’ve been messing around in Cerebro lately.”

“Ew, peas.”  Scott makes a face, and the conversation is abruptly forgotten in favor of convincing the younger Summers to eat his dinner.

“They’re still not back yet?” Angel asks somewhat incredulously on the fifth day.  She and Azazel have dropped by to check in.  They’re supposedly working on something for Erik, and had been surprised to learn that he wasn’t in.

“Nope.”  Hank says absently.  They’ve come down to his lab to demand answers, so he wishes that they’d go bug Alex or Sean instead.  “They said not to worry.  I’m not worrying.  Neither should you.”

“I’m not worried,” Angel says with a flip of her hair, “and I won’t be until we start hearing about a mass murdering on the news.”

Oh god, please don’t let it actually come to that.

Erik and Charles finally return on the seventh day.  They go to bed almost immediately, and Erik sleeps for an entire day while Charles sleeps for two.

“I want to give them like a high five or something,” Sean whispers dramatically, “because that must have been some pretty awesome sex if they’re this worn out.”

Hank rolls his eyes.  They still haven’t been given an explanation as to where Erik and Charles have been, and he doubts that they actually ever will.

These little excursions happen every now and then as the months and years go by, never frequent enough to be considered routine, but often enough for them to be considered just another thing that Erik and Charles do that involves none of the rest of them.  No one questions it, and in the end, Hank finds that he can’t remember when the excursions _stopped_ happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On Raven: it has been mentioned/insinuated several times in "X-Men First Class" through various articles and/or interviews that Raven is actually in love with Charles at first, which is the start of all their drama between each other, which leads up to their eventual confrontation in the kitchen in the mansion and why Raven defects to the Hellfire Club with Erik at the end of the movie, etc. This chapter sort of makes me nervous because that's the angle I was trying to take on Raven's relationship with Charles, but I also hope I haven't written Raven as some pathetic love interest that was never meant to be; my head-canon for her is that she's a badass, through and through. You'll see more of her and Charles' background in the last few chapters as we wrap this story up so hopefully her bad-ass-ery comes through, so in the meantime, bear with me. :)


	8. We are the better men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Conversations. They're all important, I promise.

Charles feels paralyzed. 

All he can do is lie trapped as Shaw begins to shuffle through his thoughts, his feelings, his memories—digging through Charles’ mind as if _he_ were the telepath, reaching down into the very core of Charles’ psyche, somewhere Charles himself rarely ventures when tampering with the minds of others.

 _Just remember, Professor.  Charles_.  Shaw’s thoughts whisper directly into his head, pleased.  _You let me in.  I didn’t do this._

 _Stay away from me,_ Charles pleads.  _Get out of my head, getoutofmyhead—_

 _I didn’t do this._ Shaw repeats, reaching out for a portion of Charles’ psyche.  He twines around it like poison, slowly tightening.  _You did_.

There is a horrible wrench, and Charles shatters.

 

X

 

It is 1951 and Klaus Schmidt smiles down at the young blond girl who looks back at him so coldly.  “My name is Sebastian.”

“I know.”  She says indifferently.

His smile widens and he offers her his hand.  “You are a prize, my dear.  What do I call you?”

She eyes his hand for a moment before taking it daintily.  “Emma.”

 

X

 

Charles wanders aimlessly, using his telepathy liberally to divert many of the people in the crowded market out of his way but allowing their thoughts to overtake him, immersing himself in consciousnesses so that his own thoughts are all but drowned out, moving on autopilot.  He makes it through the market without even really seeing it, though distantly he knows that in a different life, perhaps, he would have been utterly fascinated.

That thought should make him ache.  Should make him want to scream.  Instead he just feels tired.

The busy streets give way to quieter ones, and all that he really registers is that he’s climbing uphill.  Genosha is humid, the sun hot and bright, so he’s sweating a little by the time he reaches an empty square that has a small fountain in the center.  It seems opulent compared to the rest of the rather humble town but half the ledge is in shade, so he goes over and sinks down.

The minds of the town still wash over him gently, a welcome rush compared to the relative silence of the base in the mountains.  There are many mutants here, and he wonders where they’ve been all this time.  He wonders how Genosha generates its power.  He wonders where their fresh water comes from.  He wonders if the mutants here hate humans, or if they’re just relieved to be in a place where they can be themselves.  He wonders how tall the mountain beyond the town is.  Is it a mountain, or a volcano?  He wonders what the other countries think, if they know about this safe haven for mutants.  He wonders how long it will be before someone is threatened and suggests war.

The Bolivian soldier he killed had a wife and three children.  He wonders if they know that he is dead.

He can’t think about Mystique.  Raven.  Not now.

 _I’m sorry_ , Charles thinks to Erik as he shuts his eyes, bringing his hands up to rub at his face.

 _Don’t be_.  Erik thinks back at once, his reply clear despite the distance Charles has put between them.  _Not about this, Charles._

 _Tell her that I love her_.  Charles whispers, and as soon as he feels a flicker of anguish from Erik he slams his shields up, cutting himself off and carefully folding his telepathy up inside himself because he thinks that if he doesn’t, he’ll reach out to the closest mind and destroy it.

Charles thinks that if he had a little less than perfect control over his temper, he’d want to be screaming and breaking things right about now.  Somebody somewhere must really despise him, if this is how things are to be.  The pure injustice of it all makes him want to laugh and then be sick.

He’d foolishly thought that Raven was carefully cut out of his life but here of all places and now of all times she is back, and Charles isn’t sure if he can bring himself to face her.  This might be cowardly, and he might hate himself a little because of it.

But he thinks that if he looks her in the eye now, she’ll somehow _know_ , because she is Raven and she knows him better than he knows himself (if only, if only he’d realized this sooner).  And he cannot allow that.  He cannot afford that.

Charles sits on the edge of the fountain in the shade for what feels like a long time, utterly still even as his thoughts race in all directions—anything to keep from thinking too hard, looking too closely, at any one thing.  Very suddenly Azazel is standing in front of the fountain, and he’s brought along company.

“Good news, Chuck.”  Logan says, sounding unrepentantly pleased.  “Brought you a little something.  Souvenir from Bolivia.”

Charles opens his eyes and lifts his head.  His smile is slow and nothing close to pleasant.  “Logan,” he says, “you are a wonder.”

 

X

 

Erik is off the plane as soon as they land.

He has never been to Texas, but it is hot and dry here, as well as utterly flat.  Shaw’s safe house could be mistaken for a government facility—plain and nondescript, far out in the middle of the desert behind a chain link fence.  Already he is reminded of the camps; his heart rate elevated and his entire body tense.

Charles is here.  When he first steps off the Blackbird, Erik has a moment of foolish hope that he’ll feel the telepath in his mind, hear Charles at once and know instantly that he is alive.  Erik is met with nothing but silence in his own head, the same silence he has felt since the top of the satellite.

“This is it.”  Angel confirms, tired but satisfied.  They had relied solely on her memory and sense of direction ever since Hank had announced that they’d flown over the Texan border.  Erik wishes that Charles was here to prattle on about how it must be part of her mutation and how groovy it all was.

But then, if Charles was with them, they wouldn’t be here in the first place.

“Well done, Angel.”  Moira says in a low voice.  She grips her gun with both hands, narrowing her eyes as she peers at the building.  “Alright, everyone.  It should just be Shaw, Azazel, and Riptide who we have to—Erik!”

Erik is already headed for the building at a dead run.  Hank has set the plane down only a couple hundred yards away, something Moira had initially been against until Raven had pointed out that the terrain was so flat it wouldn’t really matter how far away they landed, odds were they’d be seen regardless.  Erik hears footsteps and knows that the others are not far behind him.

The chain link fence peels back for him with a rusty screech as he approaches and Erik ducks through the gap, one arm extended as he feels out all the metal he can find.  It takes him seconds to cross the bare, dusty yard and the locks in the door to the building crunch before he rips the door completely off its hinges.

A blast of cold air conditioning hits him, and here Erik stops, half inside and half outside, all senses straining as he peers into the long, featureless hallway that the door has revealed.  Fluorescent lights flicker and there is nothing but silence to greet him.

“Are they still here?” Raven asks in a whisper behind him, her hand gripping his arm tightly.

“Nothing to do but check.”  Erik says a little more loudly, ignoring the distinct sinking feeling in his stomach.  He has been anything but subtle so far, but any sort of alarm has yet to be raised.  Erik can’t imagine Shaw being _this_ callous.  And with someone like Azazel, who can teleport at the drop of a dime, it wouldn’t be farfetched at all to imagine that Shaw has already relocated.

Erik steps into the hall, his footsteps loud on the linoleum floor.  Every cell in his body is screaming for him to get out as soon as the first whiff of sterile cleaning solvents hits his nose—the entire place smells like a hospital.  Or laboratory.  Erik freezes for a moment, but Raven’s hand squeezes his arm for a moment and he takes a deep breath, starting forward again.

For Charles, he can do this.

He reaches the first closed door of the hallway, aware of Raven, Alex, Sean, Hank, Angel, and Moira all breathing behind him, tensed and waiting.  He listens intently for a long moment, but he can’t hear any kind of indication of what might lie beyond the door so he kicks it open, powers flaring forward to grasp on the first bits of metal that he can reach.

The room is empty, but Erik is thrown slightly by its appearance—of all things, it resembles a lavishly furnished sitting room.  There’s even a fully-stocked minibar tucked elegantly into one corner and for a moment Erik is tempted to smash through it with the lamp that his powers have latched onto.

“What the fuck?” Alex mutters.

“Are we in a mad scientist’s lab or a hotel?” Sean asks.  He’s probably trying to go for casually joking, but his voice comes out more shrill than anything else.

Erik backtracks out of the room, bringing the lamp with him.  He uses the wires to rip off the shade and then he crushes the base, melting it down into a sphere that rotates slowly as it hovers out in front of him in the hallway, a projectile that can be deadly if he uses it right.

He’s still concentrating on making his sphere a little rounder for a little more balance when a door further down the hallway opens and a tornado howls down the hallway.

“Erik!” Raven shouts, and all he can do is react.

He drops the sphere and raises his hands, grabbing on to the pipes and vents in the ceiling above them with his power and pulls, ripping the ceiling down in front of him with an almighty crash, slamming the metal forward as a sort of barrier.  The tornado slams into the debris, and this probably wasn’t the best idea he’s ever come up with because it sends everything flying and for a few loud, confusing moments everything is noise and chaos.

Something slams into his side and Erik is sent flying, crashing into the wall with a thud that makes his vision waver as more debris rains down on him.  Erik pushes himself up, lifting an arm to bat away at least the metal bits, and he can make out Riptide slowly making his way towards them down the hallway, blasting them with more gusts.

Sean screams, the sound cutting through the air and Riptide doubles over, clutching his ears, and then he’s throwing himself to the side as Alex’s plasma blasts down the narrow hall, lancing through the debris and walls like a knife through butter.

“Wait, Alex!”  Moira is yelling from somewhere as the smell of burning fills the air, her voice high and panicked.  “What if you hit Charles!  He might still be here!”

Riptide sends another tornado down the hallway but by now Erik has recovered enough to clamber to his feet, gritting his teeth as he grasps on to all the metal to keep the pieces from being caught up in the torrent of air, bracing himself for impact.  He can’t do anything about the broken ceiling panels and one hits him in the shoulder, but it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as a pipe would.  He hurls all of the metal back down the hall, bombarding Riptide with as much force as he can muster.

Raven darts forward, a blue streak of liquid grace, and in a second she’s on Riptide, landing a roundhouse kick to his gut that sends him careening into the wall, following up with a punch that breaks his nose with a loud crack.  From afar, Erik slams the other mutant back again, wrapping a pipe around his throat and holding him there as Raven continues her assault.  Erik drops the rest of the metal he’s still holding and then jogs down the hall, sidestepping the wreckage as best as he can.

“Raven.”  Erik reaches her, putting a hand on her shoulder and pulling her back.  She’s breathing heavily, her golden eyes wide and wild as she stares at Riptide’s bloody face.  “Wait a moment.” 

Riptide coughs, an ugly wet sound that ends with a rasp as he coughs up a globule of blood.  Erik is impressed by the force behind Raven’s blows—she’s been lifting weights for a month now, and the growth of her strength is evident.

“Where’s Shaw?” Erik asks.  For all the noise they’ve made with their fight, no one else has appeared—the only sounds he can hear are Alex, Hank, Sean, Angel, and Moira picking their way through the wreckage to join him and Raven.

Riptide glares at him and coughs again, spitting out more blood.

Erik chokes him, tightening the pipe until he’s gagging.  “Where.  Is.  Shaw.”

He loosens the pipe slightly when Riptide makes a gurgling noise.  The other mutant pants for a moment, before choking out, “He’s gone to—Emma Frost.”

Somewhere behind Erik, Moira gives a small gasp.  Erik is torn.  Shaw isn’t here.  He doesn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved.  He pushes the thought away—their objective is Charles, not Shaw.  Erik will have another chance on another day to get his revenge.

“Is Charles Xavier here?”  Erik asks.

Riptide doesn’t answer at first, but when Erik starts slowly tightening the pipe again he says quickly, “Yes.”

Raven lets out a small sound, relieved and fearful all at once.  Erik feels nothing but hot relief washing through him.  Charles is here.

“If you called Azazel, would he return here?”  Hank asks suddenly.

“Yes.”  Riptide seems to have gotten with the program and answers at once without Erik having to prompt him.

“What are you saying, dude?”  Sean demands.  “We don’t need that crazy bastard showing up here—”

“If he calls Azazel now, there’s a good chance he’ll return to check on this base _without Shaw_.”  Hank replies.  His glasses are cracked, but his eyes are sharp and bright.  “We can take him by surprise, the odds are in our favor.  If we take Azazel out now, Shaw is stranded, regardless of whether or not he’s able to free Emma Frost.  And it beats Azazel, Frost, _and_ Shaw all showing up together while we’re still here.”

“But what if he calls Azazel and he brings Shaw back with him?” Alex asks dubiously.  He has a cut on his forehead that’s slowly oozing blood.  “Then we’re screwed.  We should just grab Charles and get the fuck out now before they all come back.”

“Shaw is arrogant, though, isn’t he?”  Hank looks at Erik.  “He’d send Azazel back on his own to check.  He wouldn’t imagine that we’ve found this place.  He’s probably much too interested in getting Frost back.”

Erik nods slowly.  “It is a gamble.  But odds are higher that he’d send Azazel back alone.”  Shaw is nothing if not arrogant.

“Then we should take Azazel out now,” Hank says, and Erik is a little surprised at the vehemence in the usually mild scientist’s voice, “it’d be a crippling blow to Shaw.”

“Let’s just get Charles and go,” Moira says, looking a little pale, “it’s not worth the risk.  Charles is _here_ , Erik, we can come back for Shaw a different time.”

Erik feels like he would tear himself in two if he could.  Hank has brought up a vastly significant point, but _Charles_.  He looks at Raven, who has remained silent.  “Raven?”

She has calmed slightly, her breathing even again.  She meets Erik’s gaze and nods slowly, understanding his turmoil, and then looks back at Riptide.  “First tell us where Charles is.  Then call Azazel.”

 

X

 

Emma Frost sits on a metal folding chair as if it were a throne made of gold.  Her posture is perfect despite the fact that her arms are wrenched behind her back, and a helmet has been strapped down over her head, locking her telepathy in.

When she sees Charles, she smiles.

Charles takes a seat on a second metal folding chair, crossing his legs.  “Hello Emma.”

“Oh, sugar,” Emma says in lieu of a greeting, her voice lacking any and all sympathy, “look what he’s done to you.”

“Quite a bit, isn’t it?”  Charles agrees.  “Logan, why don’t you untie her.”

Logan snorts but moves forward, making short work of the thick twine that had been binding her wrists together.  When he quirks an eyebrow at Charles, Charles nods, so Logan flips the helmet off of Emma’s head and she instantly slips into her diamond form, glimmering slightly even in the dull light.

“That’s better.”  Charles says idly.  He’s glad Emma opted for her diamond form instead of attempting a telepathic attack.  It’d be a shame to crush her before they had a chance to talk.

“Are we in Genosha?” Emma asks pleasantly, rearranging herself delicately on her chair.

“Yes, we are.”  Charles answers.  They could be talking about the weather; Charles feels rather than sees Logan’s eye roll as the man leaves the room with a slam of the door.  “It appears that there are a lot of empty houses in this town waiting for new citizens.  This is one of them.”

“You know that you’re just doing exactly what he wants, right?” Emma asks neutrally.   She looks around.  “A bit small for either of our tastes, I think, don’t you agree?”

Charles smiles.  He is sure that it is as dead and empty as it feels.  “We know, my dear.”  He pauses, considering.  “I don’t know, a seaside cottage makes a rather fetching picture.”

Emma raises one perfectly-shaped eyebrow.  The effect is interesting, given her diamond face.  “I knew that you were broken, sugar, but I thought he left you mostly sane.”  She sniffs.  “Not nearly fetching enough.”

“Mostly is not nearly close enough to completely.”  Charles says softly, and he sees her stiffen, her diamond eyes sweeping over him in reassessment.  “Each to his or her own, I suppose.”

She looks at him for a long moment, unblinking and unreadable in the truest of senses.  She is rather remarkable.  “I have been waiting for this for a long time,” Emma says at length.

“As have I.” Charles nods once.

“You’ve worked out most of it on your own.” Emma says.  It is not a question.

“Naturally.”

Emma nods, expecting nothing less.  “Well, stop me if I’m a bore.”

“My dear,” Charles smiles again and it’s dreadful, really, “you are nothing but enchanting.”

 

X

 

As soon as Azazel appears—alone, just as Hank hypothesized, but they’re still lucky—Erik brains him with a different section of pipe and the red mutant drops like a stone.  He’d honestly like to drive the pipe through Azazel’s chest and kill him, but he might have some good info on Shaw that Erik can squeeze out of him at a later date, so right now he’s more beneficial alive.

“Holy shit, it worked!”  Sean shouts.

“Watch them.”  Erik says to Raven, nodding to Azazel and then Riptide.

Raven nods.  “Go get him.”

Erik can only nod back, throat suddenly constricted as he heads down the hallway, leaving Raven and the others behind.  Four doors to the left, Riptide had said.  Charles is here, Charles is close.  Erik repeats this like a mantra to himself.

He counts down the doors silently, coming to a stop outside the fourth.  It is just as nondescript as the others, but Erik is suddenly afraid of what he will find inside.  He has no doubt what kind of room it will be, how similar it will look to the room from his memories and nightmares.

Charles has been at Shaw’s mercy for three days.  It is nothing compared Erik, but it is still more than enough.

But maybe their luck hasn’t run out just yet.  Maybe Charles is…

Erik steels himself and pushes open the door.

 

X

 

“I grew up in Boston,” Emma says, “and my family hated me.”

“We have more in common than you think.” Charles murmurs, watching her unblinkingly.

“Don’t interrupt, it’s rather boorish.”  Emma says absently.  “I wasn’t born with my telepathy like you.  In a way, this makes it infinitely worse.  I was twelve when I manifested.  I could suddenly hear thoughts.  I suddenly knew my father was having an affair with the maid.  Oh, how she screamed when I picked apart her mind.  I just wanted to see if I actually could.”  The corners of her mouth lift in an icy smile.  “My father didn’t understand what I had done.  What I could do.  He was afraid.  So was my mother.  They threw me out.”

“And then you met Sebastian.”

“And then I met Sebastian.” Emma agrees with a sigh.  She regards him.  “Do you hate yourself, Charles Xavier?”

“I must have, at some point.”  Charles answers idly.  “But not anymore, no.  I have used it all up on something else.”

“It can hardly compare to the hatred I have for myself,” Emma says, “for taking his hand.”

“I believe you.” Charles says honestly.  He was not given a choice.  He is allowed to maintain that he had no say, which is a thought that once kept him from destroying himself.

“Good.” Emma says.  “I would hate for you to think I’m lying.”

“We are telepaths.  We are born to lie,” Charles assures her, “and we are also born to tell the difference.”

Emma smiles again.  “You are just as amusing as you were in Russia, Charles.”

“You flatter me, my dear.”

“Yes, I suppose I must be.”  Emma lifts one shoulder in an elegant shrug.  “Back to the point—I met Sebastian Shaw.  He recognized me for what I was, knew what I could do.  And he wasn’t afraid.  I must admit, he was intriguing.”  She gives him a knowing look.  “Then he brought me to Texas.”

“Ah,” Charles says, “Texas.”

 

X

 

“We’ve done it,” Erik says, panting, “we’ve done it Charles, we’ve actually done it.”

Charles doesn’t move from where he is flopped down on the ground on his back, panting just as heavily as Erik is, one arm slung across his face.  “Yes,” he agrees, “I gathered as much.”  He has a nosebleed, a small trail of blood running from his nose down his chin.

“Are you alright?” Erik asks, dropping down beside him and falling back to spread out like Charles.  The sky is clear and blue overhead, the air fresh and crisp, and Erik feels lightheaded and nearly giddy.  They shouldn’t linger here, they should head back to the Blackbird, get back to the mansion, but it is beautiful out here, far away from civilization, and together they have just achieved everything.

Charles turns his face to the side without moving his arm so he’s looking towards Erik, and offers him a faint smile.  “Yes, I’m fine.”

“It’s a bit of a rush, isn’t it?” Erik says, reaching over to tug at Charles’ other hand, lacing their fingers together.

Charles’ smile lingers.  It’s a good look on him.  “It is.  I don’t think I could ever imagine anything greater.  Or more terrible,” he adds as an afterthought.  “It’s brilliant, Erik.  A wonderful idea.”

“The whole world,” Erik says, still awed, “the whole _world_.”  He sobers.  “Charles.  You realize what this means.”

“We are gods amongst insects.”  Charles mocks softly.  His smile has faded, and he looks over at Erik wearily.  His nose has stopped bleeding, at least.

“That was always true,” Erik tells him.  He feels a trickle of something running down his mouth and chin—his nose is bleeding too.  “But that’s not what I meant this time.”

But Charles isn’t listening.  “And then we will fly too close to the sun…”

“Icarus wasn’t a god, Charles.  He was a mortal.”

Charles laughs.  “Exactly, my friend.  _Exactly_.”

 

X

 

“I am the one he used for developing and testing his serum on,” Emma says, “though I’m sure you’ve already guessed as much.”

Charles inclines his head.  “Yes.”

“I can’t begin to tell you how many tries it took before he got it just right.” Emma muses.  “How many bad trips I had before he finally discovered what adding a little pain could do.  That was how my secondary mutation manifested, you know.”  She gestures down at herself daintily.  “Sometimes I wonder if it ever would have manifested on its own.  I think he triggered it.”

“He wanted to see if I could do the same.”  Charles agrees.  “He wanted to know if all telepaths shared the trait.”  He smiles.  “It was his next objective with me.  But then he went to retrieve you from Langley.”

“And the rest is history.”

“Indeed.”  Charles says.  “For what it’s worth, I don’t believe I could ever turn to diamond.”

Emma smiles.  “That’s not worth anything, sugar—diamonds are priceless.”

“That,” Charles replies, “is a matter of opinion and perspective.”

“Whatever you say, sugar.”  Emma laughs, a light tinkling sound that falls flat on the air.  There’s no real mirth to it, so it’s no wonder.  “Would you like to hear a theory of mine?”

“Theorize away, my dear.”

“You were far older than I was when Sebastian forced his way into your head and found the bits that make you _you_ and then smashed them.”

Charles stops breathing.

Emma has a way with words, he thinks distantly, because there it all was.  Laid out in crude, simple terms.  Sebastian Shaw’s crowning triumph over Emma, over him.

Emma is watching him.  She almost looks gentle.  “Oh, sugar.  It still gets to you, doesn’t it.”

Charles draws in a breath slowly, releases it even slower.  “I would never lie to a fellow telepath.”

Emma doesn’t answer; she doesn’t need to.  Charles suddenly knows what she was getting at.  Emma _was_ much younger when Shaw rebuilt her from the inside out.  She’d been a child.  She’d barely started to grow into herself, become her own person.  A small mercy unto itself—she’d had a lot less to lose, in comparison, when Shaw decided to reprogram her himself.

No wonder, Charles thinks.  He’d already been fully mature.  His thoughts, ideals, opinions had all been concrete; set, tried, and tested.  And Shaw had taken them and disposed of them, shattering them into pieces and gluing back together a skewed version, one that met his own standards; his own thoughts, ideals, opinions—leaving Charles with a vague sense of who he used to be, what he used to think, how he used to feel, yet unable to be, think, or feel that way any longer.

With Erik, Shaw had had to work with merely the physical, but with Emma and Charles he’d broken them down to a deeply basic level before rewriting them completely.

Emma is still watching him.  She doesn’t actually have to be reading his mind to know what he’s thinking.  Charles is glad it is only the two of them here.

“I have no idea if I would have ever agreed with Sebastian Shaw.”  Emma says softly, musingly.  “Maybe I would hate humans.  Maybe I would love them.  Maybe I wouldn’t care.  We’ll never know.  I’ll never know.”

Charles doesn’t answer her.  She doesn’t want his pity.  She doesn’t need his pity.  He isn’t sure what is worse—knowing how he could have been, or going without ever knowing at all.  Neither is comforting.  Neither should have ever happened.

Both are reality.

“Are you going to kill Sebastian Shaw?” Emma asks.

“Yes.”

Emma nods.  “He’s coming here.  He built this place for us, you know.”

“I know.” Charles says quietly.

Emma smiles faintly.  “Of course you do.”  She shifts for the first time in her chair, diamond skin sparkling radiantly.  “He should be here by tomorrow.  That’s when I was supposed to meet him.”

Charles inclines his head.  “Thank you, Emma.”

“Are you going to kill me?”  Emma asks, her gaze unblinking.

Charles smiles gently.  “I’ve been building an aneurysm in your brain ever since I sat down.”

“Even through my diamond form.”  She is not surprised.

“I’m afraid so.”  He is not apologetic.

“Thank you.”  She is relieved.

“Not at all, my dear.”  He is nothing.  “Not at all.”

 

X

 

Exactly two years to the day, Erik nearly loses Charles to himself.

The thought is scarier in hindsight.  At the time, Erik does not see it coming until it is far too late to do anything but hold on tightly.

Erik doesn’t exactly remember how things start.  Charles is his usual calm all through breakfast, talking to the children as normally as he ever does, as if nothing is amiss.  But all it takes is one glance at Shaw’s helmet when they retreat to the study for him to lose all measures of composure.

Charles hates himself, Erik realizes.  Shaw has twisted the telepath’s nature so far that Charles cannot abide by his own principles.  It makes Erik want to kill something; he can barely breathe through the hatred he feels for Sebastian Shaw for making Charles like this.

“How would you even know?”  Charles demands at one point, wild-eyed and shaking.  “I could rewire your mind without a lick of remorse, and you’d never know.  Maybe I’ve done it already.”

Erik’s standing a few feet away, holding his hands up in front of him, as if approaching a cornered animal.  He’s been trying to get close for approaching what has to be half an hour now, but every time he takes a step forward Charles takes a step back, and somewhere in the back of his mind Erik knows better than to try and crowd him in this state.  “I know you wouldn’t, Charles,” he says calmly, making sure that his thoughts project his exact words as well because this is what he unreservedly believes, “because you are not Shaw.”

“I _am_ Shaw,” Charles nearly shouts, “he bloody rewired my mind so that I’d be just like him!  I’m no better than he is, not for a moment—”

“You didn’t choose this.”  Erik interrupts him, firm but gentle.  He can’t turn this into an argument where they’re both angry.  It’s not Charles who Erik wants to be angry with, at any rate.  “Shaw started thinking like that all on his own.  He’s forced you to be this way.  Don’t let him win, Charles.  You’re better than that, better than him.  Don’t hate yourself.  Hate him.”

“I don’t want to hate.”  Charles says in a defeated whisper.  His shoulders, so tense and defensive, slump.  “I’m not—I wasn’t a person who hated.  And now, and now…”  He wraps his arms tightly around himself as if he physically hurts.  “All I feel is hate.”

“My pacifist.”  Erik says, soft and fond.  He dares another step or two forward, still slow.  “Focus that hatred, then.  Direct it all to Shaw.  You know that’s what I’ve done all these years.”

“You know, I used to believe that true focus lies between rage and serenity.”  Charles says distantly, as if he’s trying hard to remember something half-forgotten.  He’s staring off into space, looking at something that Erik can’t see.  “I had serenity.  Not a lot of rage.  But now I don’t know.  It’s all wrong.”

Erik takes another step forward, then another and another.  “Then let me be the serenity to your rage.”  He’s close now, close enough to touch, but he doesn’t; not yet.  “If you can’t feel it anymore, let me feel it for you.”  It’s a daunting prospect.  Erik has lived nearly his entire life relying on his rage.  But for Charles, he can try.  For Charles, he can balance.

Charles looks back at him slowly, bleary-eyed and exhausted.  “What if I don’t want to?  What if I just want to—”

“No.”  Erik is reminded of two years ago today, the first thing that Charles said to him in a room with too many mirrors.  “The day we met, you stopped me from drowning myself.  This is me repaying that favor.”

“What’s the point?”  Charles asks dully.

Now Erik closes what little distance that still remains between them, reaching for the telepath gently and scooping him up as if he weighs nothing.  Charles doesn’t fight him, just curls closer, turning his face into Erik’s chest.  “The point,” Erik says quietly into Charles’ hair, “is that we have work to do.  We’re going to see this all the way through to the end, Charles, you and I.  Anything less is not an option.”

 

X

 

Charles finds Erik in the largest building in town, what the collective minds of the mutants here think of as Town Hall.  It’s easy to pick directions right out of their heads.  Logan walks with him the entire way, chewing on a cigar and offering no words or thoughts, for which Charles is entirely grateful.

Erik is with Raven, and he’s speaking to a mutant who must be Sunspot.  Avalanche and Azazel are here, along with a handful of Erik’s other top mutants.  Alex, Hank, and Sean hang on the periphery, watching Raven and listening closely to the two leaders talking, and Alex is holding Scott’s hand.

“Erik.”  Charles says, and just like that he has the attention of the entire room.

“Professor X,” Sunspot says, “a pleasure to meet you at—”

“Is there a room we could use?”  Erik says abruptly.  He’s met Charles’ gaze and has yet to look away.

Sunspot appears nonplussed, but readily agrees.  “Of course, this way—”

They’re led to a side room that looks similar in most aspects to the conference room of Erik’s base.  Charles enters first, though not before Logan puts a hand on his back silently, and he’s half-aware of Erik saying something to Sunspot and Avalanche before the door is shut and the crunch of locks is easily audible.

The first thing Charles does is be sick into the wastebasket, holding himself up shakily by gripping the rim weakly.  Erik takes one look at him and leaves, returning several moments later with a bottle of water, moving over behind Charles to steady him, his hands resting on Charles’ sides lightly.  Charles feels as if he is coming apart at the seams.

“The climate must not agree with you.”  Erik says quietly, even though they both know that this is not the reason.  “What is it, Charles?”

“God, Erik, it’s ghastly.”  Charles mumbles anyway as he wipes his mouth and straightens.  Erik lets him, and then guides him over to the table, making him sit on the edge and handing him the water, which Charles accepts gratefully, swishing the water through his mouth to clear it out.  “This.”

Erik’s eyes go a little blank as Charles begins to replay his memories of the last hour, projecting them into Erik’s mind.  Charles lets him absorb it all and process it, remaining still and quiet where he sits.  Now that he’s thrown up, he feels oddly empty.

“Tomorrow.”  Erik says at last, closing his eyes.  He’s standing in front of Charles, slotted neatly between the telepath’s legs.  “Tomorrow at last.”

“Sunspot is a puppet.”  Charles says instead.  “He doesn’t know it.  But he’s just a figurehead for Shaw to hide behind.”  Emma’s thoughts had been very ordered on the matter when she’d told him everything.  “Genosha as a safe haven for mutants is true enough, but it’s only a front.  In time, Shaw was going to build an army.”

“Of course.”  Erik murmurs.  “Of course.  Genosha is Shaw’s utopia.”  He opens his eyes.  “You sent Logan after Emma Frost without telling me.”

“Logan doesn’t like you,” Charles answers, “it had to be a favor for me.  I knew he would be more efficient than your people.”

“And you wanted Emma for yourself.”  Erik raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t contest anything else.

“It was a private conversation between two telepaths,” Charles answers, “that you now know every single detail about.”

“Alright,” Erik relents.  He offers Charles a slight smile.  “Shaw must have meant well when he created this place.”

Charles chuckles.  “How presumptuous.”

“With Emma gone, it won’t take long for things to get confused here.”  Erik says, growing serious again as his smile fades.  “She was probably the one who kept Sunspot in order.”

“It’s alright.”  Charles says idly.  “Your people are here.”

Erik reaches up to brush his knuckles across Charles’ cheek.  “That they are.” 

“Our intentions are better,” Charles continues, looking up at him, “our motivations are just as selfish, but we are _better_.”

“We are the better men.”  Erik agrees quietly.  “Tomorrow will prove that.”

Charles finally smiles.  “That doesn’t need proving, darling.  I knew that from the moment I met you.”

It’s Erik’s turn to chuckle, shaking his head slightly but he is warmly fond.  “You’ve kept your delusions.  You’re still Charles Xavier.”

“Charles Xavier is unraveling,” Charles answers, “so you’d better enjoy him while he lasts.”

“Until tomorrow,” Erik says firmly, “that’s all.”

“Until tomorrow.” Charles promises.

Erik kisses him gently, molding their lips together with almost tender care, and Charles parts his lips slightly to let Erik slide his tongue in, tilting his head back to give Erik better access, closing his eyes and narrowing his world down to just Erik’s mouth on his.  Their mouths move against one another for a few moments, languid and slow, as if they had all the time in the world.

 _What a notion_ , Charles thinks.

Erik withdraws gradually, a small smile quirking at the corners of his lips.  He’s always thinking about how blue Charles’ eyes are, but Charles thinks that Erik’s green ones are electrifying.  “We do have all the time in the world.  Until tomorrow.”  He brushes Charles’ hair back a little, the motions absent and natural.  “Go talk with Raven, Charles.”  _I have to go now, to finish settling the Brotherhood.  I owe them that much_.

“I want to play chess later.” Charles answers, sliding down off the table.  “Since we have all the time in the world.”  _Do your duty, Magneto_.

Erik laughs as he turns back for the door.  “We can do that.”

“I’ll play white, you’ll play back.”  Charles says.  “Just like before.”

“And I’ll thrash you soundly.”  Erik teases.  “Just like before.”  He pulls the door open but pauses, looking back over his shoulder.  “Until later, Charles.”  He waits until Charles nods before sweeping out the door, leaving it slightly ajar.

Charles stands still for a moment.  He’s done his part for now.  Erik knows.  It’s tomorrow.  The empty feeling is being slowly replaced by relief.  Perhaps this is how Emma felt.  Perhaps now everything can be alright.

He makes his way out of the room, shutting the door behind himself.  The hallway is empty except for Raven, who waits a few feet away, her golden eyes trained on him silently.  She is beautiful, he thinks.  Genosha is everything that she’s always wanted.  He wants to laugh, or perhaps be sick again—Shaw was able to give this to her, while Charles was not.  It matters little, though.  Charles can be the one to make sure it remains this way.

They study each other for a few long moments, taking each other in, until Charles wordlessly offers her his arm. 

Raven smiles.

 

X

 

“I don’t understand you, Charles!”  Raven shouts.  She’s already destroyed half the study and now she kicks over the chair Erik uses for chess with a loud thud.  “I don’t think I ever will!  It’s always about hiding with you, isn’t it?”  She adopts his voice, mimicking his British perfectly.  “ _We’ve talked about this, Raven.  A small slip up is one thing, a big one doesn’t bear thinking about_.”

Charles doesn’t turn around from the window.  It feels good to be standing, even though his ribs hurt.  His good arm dangles limply while his broken arm rests in its sling.  “You’re blue, Raven.”  His voice sounds blank and emotionless even to him, but he can’t bring himself to care.  “Not very many other people are blue.”

“Yes, goddamn it, I’m blue!”  Raven slams her fist down on the desk.  “Would you fucking look at me, Charles?  For once in your fucking life, would you just _look_?”  She’s screaming now, she can probably be heard throughout the entire mansion.

Charles doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, but he doesn’t have to, because Raven is already continuing.

“I used to think that it was going to be you and me against the world, Charles.  And then we found Erik, and Hank, and all the others, and that’s great.  It can be _all_ of us against the world.  But you still want to be a part of it, don’t you?”  She’s still shouting.  “Shaw screwed you up, Charles, don’t you get that?  Maybe that isn’t your fault, but you’re going to kill yourself trying to fight against your own nature now!  You can’t go back!  And I just want you to see that!  Acknowledge it, goddamn it!”

Distantly, Charles wonders when they moved from the subject of Raven to himself.

“I don’t want you to be this way either, Charles.”  Raven’s voice is hoarse.  “I’d rather you be your usual condescending, arrogant self who thinks he has the whole world figured out and labeled and has everything exactly the way he wants it.  But believe me, I’m an expert at trying to be something I’m not.  Don’t you try too.”

“Would you rather I go on a killing spree?”  Charles asks.  His mouth is dry.  Odd.  “That’s what my new nature is, after all.  I could be violent.  Hateful.”

“ _No_ , damn it, that’s not the point.”  Raven sighs wearily.  “I just want you to accept yourself, alright?  It’s something Erik and I have been talking a lot about.  You’re not the same anymore, you know?  Stop trying to hide.  Control it.  Face it.”

Charles is silent for a long minute.  There is a decision he has to make.  “I don’t see how this has anything to do with you being blue.”

This sets her off, just as he knew it would.  “That’s it!  I give up, Charles!  Just like _you_.  But obviously you’re not going to listen to me—just like always—and I can’t sit here and watch you destroy yourself.  I _refuse_ to watch.”  She storms over to the door and wrenches it open.  Erik is in the hallway, not quite hovering, but he’s still there.  “ _You_ deal with him!  I’m leaving!”

Charles follows her progress down through the mansion, not reading her mind but still tracking her as she makes her way outside and whistles for Azazel.  He knows the moment that she is gone.

Erik comes inside, stepping over the wreckage until he’s standing next to Charles at the window.  “She’ll be back.”

“No she won’t.”  Charles answers softly.  He should feel something, he thinks.  This should be affecting him.

Erik doesn’t say anything, folding his arms loosely.  He wants to agree with Raven, Charles can tell.  Erik doesn’t want Charles to destroy himself either.  Charles thinks that this is all very dramatic.  He told Erik his feelings on the matter as soon as Erik found him in a mirrored room in Texas three months ago.

“It’s alright,” Charles says, and for some reason he has a lump in his throat, “it’s better this way.”

 

X

 

“I burned down the mansion.”  Charles says as a preamble.

Raven laughs, wickedly delighted.  “You didn’t!”

“I did.  Well,” he amends, “Alex burned it down and Erik crushed the foundations, but it was my idea.”

Raven chuckles again, shaking her head.  “Well, there’s always the flat in Oxford.”

“What do you mean?”

Raven quirks an eyebrow at him.  “Surely you don’t mean to stay here.”  They’re walking along the beach, only a few inches up from the waves.  They’re still arm-in-arm.  “It’s not posh enough for your tastes.  We’re still a developing country.”

“Raven,” Charles says to her, “I mean to stay here for forever.”

Raven smiles, wide and real.  Her teeth are bright and white against her deep blue skin.  She’s glorious.  They walk in silence for a few paces before she speaks again.  “I have a girlfriend.”

Charles blinks.  “May I meet her?”

“Absolutely not.”

“That is highly unfair,” Charles points out, he thinks rather reasonably, “you know Erik.”

“I met Erik before you started fucking him,” Raven points out with a snort, “and besides, he already knows how embarrassing you are.”  She pauses, deliberates.  “Then again, Destiny probably already knows how embarrassing you are too.”

“So you’ve told her about me?”  Charles asks.

Raven merely smiles faintly.  “Something like that.”

“Well, when you’re ready.  I’d like to meet her.”

Raven’s smile grows a little, though it remains gentle.  “Maybe one day.”

They are silent again, but it’s companionable rather than awkward or tense.  They keep pace evenly with each other, easy as breathing.  A larger wave crashes against the shore and Raven laughs as they’re forced to perform a stilted dance for Charles to avoid flooding his shoes.  It hurts, seeing her this light and happy, but it also feels better than the most soothing balm.

“Charles,” Raven says eventually, after they’ve collected several shells, “I’m sorry.”

“Yes,” Charles says seriously, turning to look at her, “so am I.”

“I shouldn’t have said some of those things before I left.”  Raven stops, fiddling with the shells in her hands.  “I regretted most of it as soon as Azazel teleported me away, you know.  But I was still angry, and I felt like it was too late to go back.”

“You were right to say most of those things.”  Charles answers.  He gives her a small, self-deprecating smile.  “You were right about a lot of things.  And I should have looked.”  When she opens her mouth, Charles shakes his head; he’s not finished.  “I shouldn’t have ever made you feel like you couldn’t accept yourself, blue and all.”

“So you _were_ listening.”  Raven says dryly, but she’s smiling again.

Charles could tell her that he was listening to every word, understood exactly what she was trying to tell him all along, but then he would have to explain that he deflected on purpose to drive her away.  And it’d all been for nothing, he muses, because here they are again.

He is an unrepentant fool, Charles thinks, who will never learn his lesson.

“I’m sorry, Raven.” He says instead.  “I am a self-absorbed arsehole.”

“He admits it at last!”  Raven exclaims, grinning, before she grows serious again.  “Maybe you are, Charles, but I think you could have afforded to be a little self-absorbed back when I screamed at you.  Shaw tore you apart, and I yelled at you to get over it.  What kind of sister does that make me?”  She laughs weakly.

“We’re both rather atrocious at this sibling thing, aren’t we?”  Charles says, giving her a small nudge.

This time Raven’s laugh is fuller.  “Abysmal.”  She drags a toe through the sand.  “I was in love with you, you know.  While we were growing up.  Pretty much right up until we met Erik, actually.”

Several conversations he’s had with Raven over the years suddenly make a lot more sense.  “Raven.”

“I thought we were it.”  Raven shrugs.  “The only two who were different.  You were the only one who knew I was blue and didn’t want to kill me or experiment on me because of it.  And I was the only one who knew you could read minds.  Together, we weren’t alone.”  She shrugs again.  “And after I left, I realized something one day.  It wasn’t fair of me to just assume all of that.  It wasn’t fair on you, and it wasn’t fair on _me_.”

Charles reaches over tentatively to take her hand, and she smiles as she laces her fingers through his.

“We’ve stomped on each other a lot over the years,” Raven says, “unknowingly or not.  But I promise to be a better sister if you can promise to be a better brother.”

Charles can’t speak at first, his heart caught in his throat.  But he is a telepath, and telepaths are born to lie.  So he clears his throat and lies.  “I can do that.”

“Good,” Raven says, giving his hand a squeeze, “I’ll hold you to it.”

“It’s not too late, you know.” Charles says before he does something like breaking down entirely.  When Raven looks at him questioningly he continues, “To come back, I mean.  Despite the fact I burned down the mansion and all—”

“Oh, Charles.”  Raven laughs, and then pulls him into a hug.  She’s taller than he is but she still buries her face in his shoulder, just like she always does.

Because he is an unrepentant fool and a self-absorbed arsehole, Charles closes his eyes and lets himself have this, basking in the warmth of Raven’s fond regard.  Right now, they are okay, and it is more than he ever could have asked for.

“It’s a good thing you’re not still in love with me,” Charles says lightly, because he feels like they can joke about this now, “your girlfriend would have quite a bit of competition, if I do say so myself.”

Raven punches him and laughs as he doubles over with a groan.  Her eyes are a little damp but they’re also bright.  “You’ve got nothing on her.  She blows you out of the water on all accounts.”

“How humbling.” Charles replies in a strained voice, but he offers her a faint grin as he straightens, linking their arms again.  “Tell me about your travels, darling, and how you came to be in Genosha.”

Raven starts to talk, eager and animated.  Charles listens to every single word she says and never looks away once.

 

X

 

A week after Raven leaves, Hank’s experiment turns him furry and blue.  Erik doesn’t know what to tell him other than, “Never looked better, man.”

 

X

 

Erik pours a few fingers of scotch into both of the crystal tumblers, not measuring the amounts too closely.  The amber liquid splashes down quietly, and he sets the bottle down and scoops the tumblers up, heading back over to the couch.

Charles is already lounged back in a chair opposite the couch, fresh out of the shower.  The bridge of his nose is a little pink from the amount of time he’d spent walking the beach with Raven earlier, but the telepath looks the most openly relaxed Erik has seen him in days now.

“Tea, vicar?”  Erik asks him, and grins when Charles cracks open his eyes with a groan.

“I can’t believe you said that in front of Angel.”  He sits up, accepts the glass, and takes a drink right away.  “Mm, very nice.”

“You loved it.” Erik answers, making himself comfortable on the couch.  A chess board sits between them now, already set up.  “I asked Azazel to grab the good stuff went I sent him out in search of a chess board.”

“Cheers, Azazel.”  Charles murmurs absently, tipping his glass a little as he takes another sip.

Erik takes a drink before setting his glass aside.  “Well, don’t keep me waiting all night, Professor.  White moves first.”

Charles rolls his eyes and nudges a pawn forward with his wrist.  “Game on, my friend.”

Erik shows his teeth in a grin and moves his own pawn.  They exchange the first few opening moves of the game in silence, unhurried and casual.  Sitting here in the rooms of Sunspot’s manor that have been allotted to Erik, drinking scotch and playing chess, they could be back in Charles’ study in the mansion if Erik overlooks a few details.

Sunspot had graciously given Charles equally nice rooms, but the telepath has yet to step foot in them.  Some things are best left unexplained.

“How is everyone settling in?”  Charles asks eventually as he captures one of Erik’s bishops.

“Well.” Erik answers absently, scanning the board carefully.  “Angel organized everything, she’s really good at that sort of thing.  Sunspot has been very accommodating.”

“And the children?”

“Which ones?”  Erik asks wryly.  He settles for taking a pawn with his rook.  “Ours or the students?”

“Ours first.”  Charles drains the rest of his glass and then gets up for a refill.

“Well, as I said, Angel was with me, directing most of the traffic.”  Erik leans back against the couch, swirling the ice in his glass idly.  “Hank, Sean, and Alex went out to explore the town, I believe.  Scotty has refused to leave Alex’s side, so he’s gone with them.  They might have even stolen Ororo out of class, I think I saw her with Sean at one point before they left.”

“Sticking together, then.”  Charles voice floats back to him as the telepath clinks around at the bar.  “Good.  That’s good.”

“And the students are in Jubilee’s care, of course.”  Erik replies.  “They already have a school of sorts set up here, and we’re scheduled to tour it tomorrow.”  His mouth twists wryly.  “Well, as far as everyone believes.”

Charles curls back up in the chair across from Erik and moves a knight.  They go through a few more moves in silence, both of them engrossed enough to be leaning over the board, before he speaks again.  “I lied to Raven today.  For the last time, I hope.”

Erik lifts his gaze from the board.  “We can hardly do any worse at this point, Charles.”

Charles smiles faintly.  “Not at all.”

“Do you still want to do this?”  Erik asks, holding the telepath’s gaze.  He is half-afraid of the answer.  If Charles wants to back out now, Erik realizes that he doesn’t know what he’ll do. 

Charles’ eyes are clear, and so very blue.  “If anything, my friend, my resolve has only been strengthened.”

Erik cracks a smile.  “Is it awful to be relieved?”

“No,” Charles answers honestly, “because I am too.”  He keeps Erik’s gaze, peering back at him contemplatively.  “I wish none of this had ever happened.  But I don’t think I regret it.  If this is how things are, it’s alright.”

Charles’ calm helps keep Erik steady.  “That’s good,” he answers quietly, “that’s enough.”

The telepath nods.  “For once, I think it really is.”

Erik looks back down at the chessboard, surveying the pieces to keep his heart from beating right out of his chest.  He sits back after a moment with a laugh, long and loud.  “Come here, Charles.”

Charles sets his tumbler down with a smile.  “I thought you’d never ask.”

 

X

 

Erik steels himself and pushes open the door.

He steps through the doorway into a mirrored room, his refection repeated on into infinity in all directions.  There is nothing in the room except for a long, rectangular table that is far too familiar in far too many ways.  A helmet sits on the flat surface.

He shakes off the ghosts of memories and steps around the table, and his heart catches in his throat at the sight that greets him.

Charles is propped up against the back wall against the glass, sitting in a boneless slump as if he dragged himself there before running out of strength.  In two long strides Erik is in front of him, kneeling down.

“Charles?”  He hates how his voice quivers.

He breathes a sigh of relief when the telepath stirs, shifting with a low, pained moan.  It takes him several attempts alone to raise his head, and Erik sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of his friend’s—his _lover’s_ —face, pale beneath dark bruises and a fountain of dried blood coming from his nose, staining his mouth and chin.

Worse are his eyes, unfocused and pupils dilated, staring at Erik uncomprehendingly and for a split second Erik fears the very worst.

“Charles,” Erik says, and if his voice hits a pleading note then who can really blame him, “Charles, it’s me.”

It takes several long moments before Charles musters up the strength to answer, breath stuttering horribly as he tries to breathe.  He’s shaking, entire body trembling.

“Erik,” Charles says, his voice cracking, “Erik, I want to die.”


	9. Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a monster in every sense of the word. It's also nearly twice the length of all my previous chapters and I thought about splitting it up but I figured you guys have waited long enough, so here ya go. I also think it reads better all at once.
> 
> Um. This is an AU-Canon story. Emphasis on AU, and also emphasis on canon. Surprise?
> 
> I'm going to go crawl under a rock or something now.

Charles stands closest to Erik on the edge of the cliff.  He laughs suddenly.

Erik tears his eyes away from the ships to look at the telepath.  “What is it?”

“It’s nothing terribly important,” Charles answers idly, but he still sounds faintly amused, “but I thought of a name we could call ourselves, since we’re mutants and code names seem to be a theme.”  His voice is pitched low enough that the others won’t hear.

“Oh?”  Erik thinks he should probably look back out to sea, but Charles’ gaze is captivating and frankly more important.  “And what might that be?”

Charles gives a razor-sharp smile, inclining his head towards the ships.  “Onslaught.”

 

X

 

Hank and Alex are walking back from getting Scott and Ororo into bed with the rest of the children when they run into Raven in the hall.  They’re all staying in the Town Hall for the night, until more permanent living arrangements can be assigned, though Hank isn’t sure what Raven’s still doing here.

“Hey,” Raven says, giving a small, half-tentative smile.  “We didn’t get a chance to talk earlier.”

Alex shrugs.  “You were busy.”

“It’s good to see you again.”  Raven replies, looking between them.  “I’m glad you’re all here.”

“Even Charles?” Alex asks, a clear challenge.

Raven merely smiles.  Her smile has changed, Hank thinks.  It’s subtler, more reserved but no less warm.  _She_ has changed.  Maybe it isn’t a bad thing.  “Even Charles.”

There’s something about the gentle way she says her brother’s name that makes even Alex relax.  “Good,” he says with a nod, “that’s good.”

“Would you like to come catch up for awhile?”  Hank asks after a brief silence has settled between them all and he feels like he should say something.  Raven’s departure without a single backwards glance five years ago had cut at the time, but now it’s just good to see her again.

Or maybe he’s just bad at holding grudges.  Either way, it hardly matters now.

“Yes,” Raven answers, and Hank learns that her grin is exactly the same as he remembers and he finds himself smiling back, “I’d like that.”

 

X

 

Erik groans into Charles’ mouth as the telepath shifts over him, one hand sliding up Charles’ back to tangle in his hair at the base of his neck while the other continues to hold the telepath steady as he slowly sinks down onto Erik’s cock.

Charles is a warm, firm weight as he straddles Erik on the couch, and he tastes like the scotch they’ve been drinking.  The chessboard lays entirely forgotten on the coffee table as Charles braces his hands on Erik’s shoulders and slowly lifts himself up only to slam back down on Erik’s cock so fast that they both gasp; Erik’s deep and throaty while Charles’ is breathless.

Erik feels utterly boneless as he leans back against the thick cushions, watching through hazy, half-lidded eyes as Charles rides him.  Erik’s fingers slip through Charles’ hair, tracing down the telepath’s spine through a light sheen of sweat before finally catching at his hip, guiding him gently as Charles raises himself up again slowly before sinking down even slower.  Erik squirms at the sensuous, nearly tortuous sensation that’s threatening to drive him mad; he can’t help bucking his hips up and disrupting Charles’ rhythm somewhat, making the telepath shiver.

“Easy, love,” Charles murmurs, leaning forward to kiss Erik even as he rolls his hips slowly, sucking on Erik’s tongue in time with his movements.

“Nothing’s—ever—easy—with—you,” Erik growls, accenting each word with a sharp thrust upwards, making Charles’ breath catch each time as the telepath’s entire body rocks up with every push.  Erik’s hand on Charles’ hip has tightened, and his other slides down to wrap tightly around Charles’ hard cock between them.

Charles makes a low, strangled sound in the back of his throat but lifts himself up again, leg muscles trembling, before letting himself drop and then _clenches_ , tight around Erik’s cock, drawing a loud, ragged gasp out of the metallokinetic. 

“You wouldn’t want me any other way, darling,” Charles whispers against Erik’s lips, smug, “don’t even try to— _hng_.”

Erik smirks as Charles’ back arches almost involuntarily as Erik drags his hand up and down Charles’ cock, squeezing just right, in the way he knows will send the telepath over the edge.  Erik pushes up into him again and Charles moans, tilting forward again to rest his forehead against Erik’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as his body bucks several times against Erik’s, seeking the friction that Erik’s hand provides as well as attempting to push down even lower onto Erik’s cock.

Erik turns his head and kisses Charles’ neck, licking at his pulse point until Charles is whimpering, moving against Erik’s cock and hand as Erik guides him up and down and up and down.  Erik’s other hand is probably going to leave bruises on Charles’ hip but Erik likes it that way, gripping him even tighter as they fall into a steady rhythm, Erik rocking up slightly every time Charles pushes down.

Charles lifts his head to capture Erik’s mouth with his own again, all tongue and teeth as they speed up a little, getting a little more desperate as they grow close to climax.  Charles moves his hands from Erik’s shoulders, reaching up to bury his fingers in Erik’s sweat-soaked hair, pulling their bodies even closer and trapping the hand Erik has on his cock between them.  It’s an awkward angle for Erik’s wrist but he hardly cares, his strokes up and down Charles’ cock growing more irregular as they start to come apart.

Erik shoots off first, straight up into Charles with a groan, slamming the telepath down on his cock and holding him there in place even as Charles instinctively squirms a little before Erik drags his orgasm out of him with his hand, stroking Charles’ cock until Charles gives a ragged gasp, eyes opening wide as he shudders, shooting sticky, white come all over their bellies.

They’re both still for a moment longer, sweaty and panting, and Charles presses their foreheads together, his telepathy washing over Erik gently in warm, content waves as he sits slumped against Erik in his lap.  Erik’s hand on Charles’ hip has finally loosened but he strokes the telepath’s skin there absently, the movement slow and soothing as they catch their breath.

Eventually Charles shifts slightly, his thighs moving on either side of Erik’s.  He’s acting like he’s going to pull off and move away, so Erik grabs him, both of his hands coming up to rest on Charles’ hips this time, stilling him.  Charles raises his eyebrows.

“Where do you think you’re going,” Erik says with a smirk, “I’m not finished with you yet.”

 

X

 

Angel laughs, wiping her eyes.  “And there was this other time when Scotty tried to start the fire in the fireplace with his eyes,” she says, snorting a little, “and we ended up having to replace the entire mantle.  Magneto was not pleased.”

“Dude, I remember that!”  Sean hangs off the arm of his chair as he laughs.  “That was like his first Christmas in the mansion or something, right?  And he was so scared that we were gonna kick him out.”

“God, he’s an idiot.” Alex says, but he sounds unmistakably affectionate.

“Sounds like he takes after his brother.”  Raven says with a grin, and slaps Sean’s hand when he offers her a high five.  “Nah, he actually sounds pretty adorable.”

“He’s a charmer, all right.”  Angel nods, grinning at Alex’s disgruntled look.  “He’s going to get more girls than Alex, I bet.”

“And Ororo’s so smart,” Hank adds, “I’ve been teaching her a little bit of physics and calculus and she catches on so quickly.  Not to mention her powers are amazing.”

“Erik mentioned Ororo briefly when I was showing him around,” Raven says, “it sounded like he was pretty fond of her.”

“Girl, the only one who has Magneto wrapped around one finger tighter than Ororo is the Professor.”  Angel answers with a laugh.  “He brought her home one day and that was the end of that.  He used to read her bedtime stories when she was really little.”  She sighs with fond remembrance.  “We would all sit outside in the hallway to listen, and he would pretend like he didn’t know we were there.”

“And the Prof would make a point to walk past every time,” Sean chimes in, “and at first we thought he was just, like, amused by us or something, but I think he actually just wanted to listen too.”

“Charles and I used to take turns reading to each other when we were young,” Raven admits, “and he always said I was better at it than him, because I could do all the voices _just_ right.”

“Dude, we should have story time with Mystique,” Sean says, “all the kids would love it.”

Raven laughs.  “Maybe.  I guess I would like to meet them all at some point.”

This launches them into a round of stories about all the children, led by Sean who tells all the funny ones that he can remember with Alex chipping in details here and there while Angel corrects them when they get a little carried away with their embellishments.

“I recognized you right away when I saw you.”  Raven says to Hank with a small smile as Sean and Alex argue about the finer details of a story involving Pyro (“Crazy motherfucker,” Sean states calmly, and neither Alex nor Angel contest that part).  “I just knew it was you.”

Hank huffs out a noise that is half-sigh, half-laugh.  “It didn’t attack the cells.  It enhanced them.  My experiment didn’t work.”

“Yes it did, Hank.  Don’t you see?”  Raven answers calmly.  “This is who you were meant to be.  This is you.  You’re beautiful, Hank.”  Gone is the young, flirty girl that Hank remembers from five years ago.  In her place is someone still young, but proud and determined.

Hank nods gruffly.  He’s had a lot of time to come to terms with his body and for the most part, he’s made his peace.  It’s been five years, after all.  But to hear Raven say all that is something Hank hasn’t even realized that he needed.

“I missed you all.”  Raven says, her voice carrying softly over the sound of Sean, Angel, and Alex laughing.  “I’m glad we’re all together again.”

Hank could close his eyes and they could be in the CIA base in Langley again, showing off their powers and coming up with code names and dancing to _Hippy Hippy Shake_.  He could be shy, Alex could be angry, Angel could be standoffish, Sean could be goofy (well, some things never change), and Raven could be teasing.  Erik could be cool and distant, and Charles could be bright and optimistic.  Moira and Darwin could be there too, and the team could be whole again.

Here and now, their team has been tried and tested.  They have lost some members, and they have grown and changed.  They are different, but Hank thinks that they are stronger.  Wiser.

Hank thinks that maybe if Raven had stayed, his crush on her could have developed into something more.  Or maybe it would have fizzled out into nothing.  He never will really know.  But now as he looks at her, after Darwin has been lost, Charles broken, Moira gone, and himself turned blue, Hank is only glad to see an old friend.  Raven has weathered the same things that he has, after all.

He gives her a smile.  “I am too.”

 

X

 

“Harder,” Charles hisses, turning his head to glare at Erik over his shoulder, “fuck, Erik, _harder_.”

“Anything for you, _liebling_.” Erik growls with a brutal thrust of his hips, slamming into Charles from behind.  He grabs the telepath by the back of the neck and shoves his head down into the sheets, nearly smothering Charles as he slams into him again and again.

Charles grunts, scrabbling for purchase as he arches back against Erik, snarling obscenities.  Erik is relentless, pushing him down again and fucking him harder, sending jarring shockwaves of pleasure-pain up the telepath’s spine that Erik feels too because Charles is broadcasting, his telepathy sinking into Erik’s brain like thousands of tiny, sharp hooks.

“God, Erik,” Charles chokes out, pushing back against Erik with what little leverage Erik allows him to have, “make me feel it, I want to _feel_ it—”  He breaks off with a wrecked sound when Erik smashes into him again, making him slide up the bed a little ways from the sheer force.

“You’ll feel me,” Erik snarls through gritted teeth, reveling in the tight heat that he’s sinking down into as Charles twists and clenches, “me, Charles, only me—” The rest of his words don’t even get a chance to form, sticking in his throat as Charles lashes back with his telepathy in another maddening lance of _pain-pleasure-moremoremore_ that nearly overloads the entirety of Erik’s senses.

Erik gives it to him, fucking Charles within an inch of both of their lives, because he knows this is what Charles needs, what Charles knows Erik wants-needs-hates-loves, because tonight is a night for this kind of lovemaking; brutal and harsh and furious and hard and fast, something that will leave them both with ugly bruises and phantom pains.  Erik feels as if they are etching themselves into each other’s skin, carving their essence into one another in such a way that can never be forgotten.

Charles has managed to lever himself back up onto his hands and knees so Erik plasters himself over the telepath, forcing Charles take all of his weight as he makes his thrusts short and sharp now, shallow compared to his previously brutal, deep thrusts.  He braces his hands on the bed in front of the telepath and one of Charles’ hands moves to grip Erik’s wrist tightly, holding on as he moves beneath Erik in time with Erik’s thrusts.  Erik bites down on Charles’ shoulder, digging his teeth into the telepath’s sweat-slicked flesh, and Charles throws his head back with a strangled cry, eyes squeezed shut and arms trembling as he holds himself up beneath Erik’s assault.

Erik bites again, gnawing at the tendons of Charles’ neck, hard enough to bruise as Charles hisses, jerking back against him.  This is how Erik best knows how to leave his mark, how he has gained nearly every single mark of his own—with violence and pain.  He presses a kiss to each of the marks he’s left, though, closed-mouth and chaste—because this is different—before he pulls away, pushing himself off of Charles’ back and pulling his cock out of Charles’ ass.

Charles stays exactly how he is, a quivering mess on all fours, dropping his head back down to expose the back of his neck as he instinctively tenses, panting harshly.  His fingers dig into the rumpled sheets, his cock hard and heavy between his spread legs.  He is entirely on display for Erik, suspended in anticipation, sweaty and used and utterly beautiful.

Erik gives him no warning, no preemptive touch before slamming back into him, burying his cock back in Charles’ ass as deeply as he can in one vicious thrust, crushing Charles down into the mattress.  Charles comes with a scream, arms giving out as he collapses forward and Erik catches him, wrapping one arm around his chest to hold him up, keeping Charles’ ass pressed back against his cock as Erik rides out the telepath’s orgasm into his own, coming with a low groan.

Charles droops limply in Erik’s grasp, his telepathy a low, static-riddled buzz in the back of Erik’s mind—he’s exhausted, burnt out by sheer exertion and sensation.  Erik presses a kiss to the back of Charles’ neck, making him shiver and then give a small groan as the motion makes him move against Erik’s now softening cock still buried inside him, teasing his over-sensitized skin.

Erik lets him fold forward onto the sheets, and they both wince as Erik pulls out, the drag of flesh-on-flesh getting to be too much now.  Erik is now infinitely glad that they’d moved to the bedroom—originally he’d wanted to take Charles on the couch again but the telepath had demanded to be taken to bed, and who was Erik to disagree—because it’s now a simple matter to flop down next to Charles and yank at the sheets until they’re both somewhat covered, though not before he uses one corner to clean Charles off as best as he can.

Charles rolls sluggishly onto his side so that he’s facing Erik, and Erik can tell he’s having trouble keeping his eyes open so he pulls Charles close, kissing him slowly and gently, a far cry from the rest of the evening.  They don’t need words, spoken or silent; not when they have this language of their bodies down flawlessly.  Charles hums into the kiss, curling closer to Erik as he shuts his eyes, slowly going lax as he drops off.

Erik tangles their legs together, wrapping his arms around Charles and tucking the telepath’s head beneath his chin so that they are pressed together, slotting together perfectly, two halves of a whole.

Now, and only now, Erik closes his eyes to sleep.

 

X

 

“What are you still doing up, sweetheart?”

Rouge pauses in the doorway, her face breaking into a smile.  “Looking for you.”

Logan huffs out a laugh and pats the thick concrete railing that he’s sitting on.  “C’mere, kiddo.”

Rouge steps out onto the balcony, quietly shutting the door behind her before streaking over to where Logan waits, clambering up to sit beside him.  Logan steadies her gently, careful to touch only the fabric of her long-sleeved shirt so she doesn’t flinch away, and then lets her settle, watching as she kicks her feet back and forth absently.

“You hot in that shirt?” Logan grunts, stubbing out his cigar on his palm.  Personally, he’s sweating like a goddamn pig.

“A little,” she admits, “but you know I have to wear it.”

“Still no progress on the powers, then?” He asks, almost gentle.

“No.”  Rouge shakes her head, a little forlorn.  “The Professor hasn’t had a private lesson with me for a couple weeks now.”

“Well,” Logan deliberates, “Chuck’s a pretty busy guy.  I’ll talk to him though.  A little friendly reminder don’t hurt no one.”

“Would you?”  Rouge smiles.  “Why do you call the Professor that?”

“What, Chuck?”  At her nod, Logan shrugs.  “Because I can, squirt.”  Xavier had never protested, at any rate; merely informed Logan that under no circumstances was he to ever call him Charlie.

Rouge giggles, slipping her gloved hand into his.  “Do you like it here?”

Logan doesn’t answer right away, chewing on the end of his cigar.  “You wait, Anna Marie,” he says at last, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, “one day this place will be brilliant.”

 

X

 

“Here.”  Erik thrusts a hand out to Charles.

Charles blinks up at him hazily.  He’s been off the morphine for a week now and his progress has been both steady and shaky in turns, but he’s getting there.  “What is it?”

“I need you to hold this for me.”  Erik says.  “I can’t keep carrying it around.  Not right now.”

Charles isn’t quite following him.  To be fair, the telepath had been half-asleep on the couch when Erik had tracked him down.  “Erik, what—”

Erik grabs Charles’ hand of the arm that isn’t in the cast, and presses his silver coin into the telepath’s palm, meeting his gaze unblinkingly.  “Hold this for me.  Please.”

Charles blinks again, going very still for a moment, but then his fingers brush against Erik’s as he slowly curls them around the coin.  “I can do that.”

 

X

 

In the early morning they have the slow, burning kind of sex that used to send Erik running for the hills because of how open and raw it makes him feel.

He splays Charles out on his back, mapping every inch and contour of the telepath’s body with his lips and fingers, relishing in every sigh and hitched breath that Charles gives him, memorizing the sounds as if he could engrave them in his mind, carve them right across the front of his brain.

When he pushes inside Charles, slow and deep, Erik leans over him, kissing the huge, ugly bruise on Charles’ shoulder left by his teeth from the night before, making Charles whimper at the combined sensations of the stinging kiss and the slow stretch of Erik entering him.

Charles draws in a shuddering breath as Erik stills, completely inside him, holding eye contact with Erik unblinkingly, unable to look anywhere else.  Erik is equally captivated, sliding his hand forward to clasp Charles’, threading their fingers together as he begins to move, so slowly.

Erik feels as if he is burning, because everything about them now is heat as he presses Charles back against the mattress, their skin sliding together as they breathe deeply, perfectly in synch.  Charles’ telepathy burns through him, but it’s a good kind of burn, drawing their minds together until Erik can barely tell where he ends and Charles begins, their thoughts pooling together as one, closer than even their flesh can be.  They are a cacophony of each other, mixing and merging thoughts and feelings and memories louder and louder even in the silence until there is nothing between them—nothing at all.

For a single, searing moment Erik is looking up at himself through Charles’ eyes, and Charles gazes back down at him through Erik’s.

He blinks and then he’s back, looking down at Charles while Charles looks back up, blue, blue, so _blue_.  Erik kisses him then, giving another long, slow drag of sticky, heated skin as they slide together once more.  Every touch is like a brand, and Erik feels these ones more than any of the others he’s gained throughout his entire life.

Remember this, every carefully slow move they make together practically screams; a quiet sort of desperation to feel everything all at once.  Remember this.  Don’t let go.  Remember me.

I love you.  Goodbye.

Charles lets out a soft sob as he trembles apart, clutching Erik’s hand so tightly that Erik shakily lifts their hands to press a kiss to the back of Charles’ as he too shakes to pieces, letting out a small, raw sound as he slumps, covering Charles with his body one more time, resting his forehead on Charles’ chest.  He feels as if he has been torn apart.

“Erik,” Charles says, lifting his free hand to push his fingers through Erik’s sweaty hair gently.  He doesn’t seem to be able to say anything else, but Erik knows exactly what he means with just his name.  He’s still gripping Erik’s hand tightly, and Erik doesn’t want him to ever let go.

“Charles,” he says back, because he can’t say anything else either.  Charles already knows.  There’s nothing more Erik could say, and he swallows, listening to Charles breathe, relishing the feeling of Charles’ body beneath his.

It is a long time before either of them move.

 

X

 

Exactly two years to the day since Erik pulled him out of a mirrored room, Charles lets Erik scoop him up and hold him close, going still and lax in Erik’s grip, turning his face into Erik’s chest.

“The point,” Erik murmurs, his chest vibrating with the sound, “is that we have work to do.  We’re going to see this all the way through to the end, Charles, you and I.  Anything less is not an option.”

“Alright,” Charles whispers, because even though Erik sounds calm Charles can feel his desperation, his driving need to make Charles hold on, “alright.”

Erik presses a kiss to the top of Charles’ head.  “We’ll get him, Charles.”

“Erik.”  Charles turns his head slightly, so only his cheek rests against the fabric of the metal-bender’s shirt.  “Raven was right.”

There’s a small pause.  “Right about what?” Erik asks slowly.  It is the first time Charles has brought up his sister since the day she left.

“You know about what.” Charles answers softly.  “I can’t go back, Erik.  I don’t think I can be fixed.”

Erik tenses, even though his grip on Charles remains gentle.  “We had this conversation two weeks ago,” he begins, but Charles knows that his heart truly isn’t in it, “you can’t give up, Charles, you—”

“I’ve thought about it since then.”  Charles interrupts him quietly.  “And I know you have too.  We can keep hoping that someday I will heal, but this isn’t just something that needs time.  It’s my _mind_ , Erik.”  He laughs weakly.

Erik carries him across the room, sinking down onto the couch but keeping Charles firmly encased in his arms even as he sits.  Erik lets out a shaky sigh.  “I know, Charles.”

“I can’t think of anything that we could do,” Charles answers, shifting a little on Erik’s lap so that they’re both more comfortable, “short of redoing what Shaw did, and going in and—and breaking—”  He can’t finish, cutting himself off and closing his eyes.

“We’re not doing that.”  Erik says, his voice thick.  “No one’s going into your head again, Charles.”

“I don’t think it’d work anyway,” Charles whispers, “Shaw smashed everything so well the first time, I don’t think my mind could survive it happening again.  So.”  He clears his throat.  “This is me now.  There’s no going back.”

Erik gives him a small squeeze, wordlessly conveying that he is here, that he isn’t going anywhere.

Charles is rather glad because he thinks that if he loses one more thing, he’ll start to scream and never be able to stop.

 

X

 

Charles lets Erik take the first shower because if he’s honest with himself he’s not entirely sure if he can move yet.

He lies still on his back, listening to the sounds of Erik moving around in the bathroom and the hiss of running water, eyes closed.  He is beyond sore but he relishes the pain, soaking in the feeling like a starving man.  This is real, he tells himself, don’t cut it off for a second.

It’s a good kind of pain, a nice kind of burn.  Charles feels like he’s been burning all morning, breathing Erik like oxygen.  If he concentrates, he can still feel Erik’s warm, solid weight resting on top of him.

He must doze off at some point, because he gradually becomes aware of Erik hovering over him, and the metal-bender presses his lips to Charles’ forehead, murmuring, “I’m going to get the children.”

“They’re not children anymore.”  Charles mumbles, cracking his eyes open.

Erik’s face is close, his breath puffing lightly through Charles’ hair when he lets out a small laugh.  “No, I suppose they aren’t.”  He pauses, putting one hand gently on Charles’ shoulder, fingertips ghosting over the ugly bruise.  “Will you be alright?”

“It hardly matters, darling.”  Charles gives him a sleepy smile, reaching up to cover Erik’s hand with his own.  “I like it.  But I’ll meet you in half an hour.”  His smile fades somewhat.  “I don’t want to be there when you tell them.  I can’t.”

“We’ll wait for you.”  Erik flips his hand over to lightly clasp Charles’, bending once more to kiss him gently, this time on the lips.  “Don’t be long, _liebling_.”

“Darling,” Charles answers idly with another sleepy smile, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 

X

 

Erik shuts the bedroom door quietly, running a hand through his hair absently as he stands still for a moment, looking around but really seeing nothing.  He needs to get moving.

He knows why Charles doesn’t want to be there when Erik tells Alex, Sean, Hank, and Angel that Shaw is coming.  Will be here.  Is probably already here.  They will all be focused, determined and ready, and Erik knows that all their thoughts will instantly turn to helping avenge what has been done to their Professor.  Erik knows that Charles cannot face that, their unassuming regard, not while he knows what they are about to do.

Erik hardly wants to be there himself, but he thinks they owe the children— _adults_ , Erik thinks, because Charles is right—this much, at least.  They are a part of this as much as he and Charles are.

The sitting room is just as they left it the night before; half-finished tumblers of scotch, ice long melted, sit beside the chessboard, where the pieces still sit in the middle of battle.  Well, not the middle.  One look at the arrangement of the pieces and the victor is clear.

Erik stops by the coffee table on his way out and reaches down to flick the black king over in a bow to the white king.

 

X

 

It is only Raven’s second night in the mansion and there is a loud storm outside, lightning flashing and thunder rolling.  She’s been given her very own room with a very big bed but she huddles in the center, curled up as tightly as she can manage as the wind howls outside.

Every time the tree branches scrape the window she burrows down a little deeper, afraid of all the unfamiliar sounds in this unfamiliar house.  She’s grateful to Charles for giving her food and taking her in, but his mansion is dark and scary at night and she wishes that she wasn’t quite so alone.

Something warm and sleepy slides gently into her mind, soothing and soft.  _All right, Raven?_ Charles asks sleepily.  Her new friend—brother, she corrects herself—is just down the hall in his own room.  He sounds exhausted, which he probably is; he’d spent most of the day working on his own mother’s mind, convincing her that she had a daughter named Raven.

 _I’m fine_ , Raven thinks back quickly, _go to sleep, Charles.  You need to rest_.

 _I’m alright_ , Charles thinks back, still sleepy, but she can picture his easy grin that accompanies his voice.  _But would you mind at all if I just…?_

Raven starts a little when a hand gently wraps around her own.  She peers down through the darkness, but there’s nothing, her hand is empty.  _You’re holding my hand!_

 _Making you feel like I’m holding it_ , Charles corrects, but he sounds sleepily satisfied.  _Do you mind?_

 _No,_ Raven thinks back and when it feels like Charles has given her hand a small squeeze she projects her delight back at him, pretending to squeeze back.

 _You should sleep too_ , Charles says, drowsily content, _tomorrow there’s so much to show you around here._

Raven has forgotten about the storm now, and she’s excited about the prospect of exploring.  _Okay_ , she agrees easily, relaxing a little under the covers, _I’ll see you in the morning_.

 _Goodnight, Raven_ , Charles murmurs back, already beginning to drop back off to sleep, but he makes sure that he holds her hand for as long as possible before he does.

 

X

 

Sunspot’s manor is nothing compared to Westchester, but it takes Charles a few minutes to find his way out of the building and onto the street.  The town is quiet in the early morning, the sun just beginning to rise.  The air is thick and heavy; it’s going to be a hot day.

The shower had helped a little with the soreness Charles can feel in his bones now—or at least it certainly feels that way—and his movements are only a little stiff as he makes his way down the street.  His shoulder aches, a dull throb, but the heat of the day makes it feel good.

Charles can sense a few minds throughout the town that are awake, but he runs into no one as he makes his way steadily towards Town Hall, where most of the Brotherhood is temporarily staying.

A woman steps out into the street in front of him, and Charles stops.

“Charles Xavier.”  She pronounces his name with the utmost care in a gently lilting accent.  Looking into her mind is like looking into the sun with a telescope—it’s too bright, too much, and Charles flinches.  She gives him a small smile.  “I know what you and Erik Lehnsherr are going to do.”

“Yes, you can see it, can’t you?” Charles remarks quietly, looking into her eyes even though they are milky-white and unseeing.  His mind is still reeling from the stark chaos of her mind, but he feels calm.  “You’ve been able to see it for a long time.”  And because his glimpse into her fractured mind was still enough, he adds, “Destiny.”

She smiles again.  “Yes.  As soon as you made the decision three years ago.”

“You are marvelous.” Charles says.  “Though I don’t envy you.  Well.  I do for some things.  But not for that.”

Destiny chuckles.  “Only the foolish do, Charles.”

“Is it the right thing to do?” Charles asks her.

“As right or wrong goes, I am hardly a judge,” she answers serenely, “so I could not honestly answer you that.”

Charles accepts this answer.  It’s what he and Erik have been saying all along.  “And the outcome?”

Destiny smiles wryly.  “You don’t truly want to know the outcome,” she says gently, “if you’ve made your plan the way it is.  It hardly matters to you.”

Charles laughs.  “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“You should go now,” Destiny says with another small smile, “Erik has finished telling the children that Sebastian Shaw approaches.  Hank has something for you.”  She pauses, and then adds gently, “Raven is there.”

Charles closes his eyes briefly.  “Yes.  Of course she is.”  He opens them.  “Did you—?”

“No.”  Destiny assures him softly.  “I did not tell her.”  She pauses, as if considering, and then speaks her next words slowly.  “She will understand.  One day she will forgive you.”

Charles feels all tension leave his body.  He feels relaxed and loose now.  There is nothing left holding him back.  “Thank you,” he says, even though he can barely speak, “thank you.”  He is sure that even she can feel his resolve clicking finally into place completely.

Destiny smiles gently.  “The acts of this life are the destiny of the next.  Go well, Charles Xavier.”

Charles goes.

 

X

 

Erik looks at Hank only a little dubiously.  “You had Azazel retrieve this from the base?”

“Last night,” Hank confirms, “I had a hunch that we’d need them sooner or later.  I made them ages ago back at the mansion, actually.  Kept them ready ever since.”

Erik recalls Charles’ warning the day before, that Hank was beginning to suspect them.  Or it could just be that Hank has known they’d be going up against Shaw sooner or later as it was.  “I see.”

“You’re really prepared, Hank.”  Raven says with a small laugh, looking down into the large metal box.

“There’s one for everyone,” Hank answers, “I modified them each so they’re compatible with everyone’s separate abilities.  But, um, I don’t have one for you,” he adds to Raven apologetically.

She grins.  “I don’t need one, but thanks.”

“I made them originally because I’d assumed that we’d have to fly in order to get to Shaw,” Hank continues, “but I suppose that’s not necessary now.  Still, it’s better than just wearing plainclothes.  I assume that this is going to be a fight.”

The door to the conference room that Erik has gathered them all in opens and Charles steps inside, and Erik sees the tiny wince Charles gives when everyone’s eyes focus on him—no doubt catching their thoughts and feelings on the situation at hand.

They’d taken the news rather well, Erik thinks as he glances around at Alex, Sean, Hank, Angel, and Raven’s faces; they’d gone from being blearily sleepy to awake and focused in a matter of moments after Erik had let slip Shaw’s name.

“Good morning, everyone,” Charles says politely, crossing the room to slip in between Erik and Raven, “lovely day for murder, isn’t it?  Oh, Hank, what’s this, how exquisite.”

“Do we really have to wear these?” Alex asks.

The door to the room opens again but this time it’s Avalanche, wild-eyed and panting.  “Reports from the west coast of Genosha have just come in,” he gasps out, sides heaving, “There’s an entire armada of ships headed for the island!”

“Yes,” Erik says calmly, “we know.”

Charles glances sideways at Alex, painfully amused.  “I suggest we suit up.”

 

X

 

It takes less than half an hour for most of Erik’s people to be awakened and ready to mobilize, along with a large handful of mutants from the town.  Erik is firm about what they are to do—stay, protect the town, keep watch to the east to make sure they haven’t been blindsided and surrounded.

“And you will handle the attack?”  Sunspot asks, though he can’t quite keep the skepticism out of his voice.

“I am personally best-suited to handle enemy ships,” Erik says back with a sharp grin, “once you take into account the amount of steel used to build them.”

“Ah.” Sunspot’s eyes light with understanding, and he has little to contest after that.

“My team will provide any necessary backup,” Erik continues with a note of finality, “and they are all who I require.  We’re a rather specialized unit.  Although I will be taking Mystique with me.”

Sunspot nods.  “She is one of our best.”

“I know,” Erik answers dryly, “I trained her.”

Sunspot looks surprised, but to his credit, he recovers.  “For Genosha,” he says, holding out his hand.  “Good luck.”

Erik clasps it firmly, shaking his hand once.  “For Genosha,” he agrees, but adds silently to Charles, _For us._

 _For us all_ , Charles amends quietly, his eyes trained on Alex and Scott.

“You look like a super hero!” Scotty is exclaiming, feeling the fabric of the blue and yellow flight suit that his brother has grudgingly put on.  “I want a uniform too!”

“If you’re good while I’m gone, I’ll ask Hank to make you one.” Alex promises.  “But you _have_ to be good.  Do whatever Jubilee tells you to.”

“I do that already!”  Scott protests, and then grows startlingly serious.  “You’re coming back, right?”

“As soon as we finish kicking the bad guy’s ass,” Alex answers, drawing a grin from his little brother.

“Why can’t I come?”

“Because you don’t have a uniform,” Alex replies easily, ruffling Scott’s hair, sparking another round of protests.

“Really, Beast-man?” Angel asks as she steps back into the hallway, doing a twirl to show off her suit—the back is open to allow her wings to unfold.  “Blue and yellow?”

“I dunno,” Sean says with a shrug, “I kind of like it.”

“Nothing wrong with blue.” Hank growls, and Raven laughs.

“For you two, maybe,” Angel concedes, “but next time you design uniforms, I get to pick my own colors.”

“It’s time,” Charles says abruptly, and Erik catches a wisp of a pained _I can’t take this anymore_ , “let’s go.”

Instantly everyone is serious, Alex bidding Scott a quiet goodbye before allowing him to be ushered off back to the rest of the younger children.  Erik thinks of Ororo, and despite himself his heart gives a little pang.

Charles glances at him, and suddenly his telepathy surrounds Erik’s mind like a warm blanket.

 _Hello Ororo_ , Charles says silently, and through him, Erik is aware of the young girl’s mind.

 _Professor_ , Ororo thinks back.  She sounds nervous, but that’s a given—she and the rest of the children are being ushered to a bunker as a mere precaution.  She must know that something is happening.

 _We just wanted to tell you that you’ll be safe_ , Erik thinks, and Charles helps by projecting it through to her.

 _Oh, Magneto_.  Ororo is surprised, and then relieved.  _What’s happening?_

 _Nothing you need to worry about_ , Charles assures her gently, _it’ll be over before you know it.  You can keep the others calm, won’t you?_

 _Yes_ , Ororo replies, _I can do that._

Erik sends Charles a wave of gratitude, because he’s given Erik an excuse to think his next words without seeming out of place.  _We’re proud of you, Ororo_. 

Charles projects the warm glow of pride he feels from her to Erik.  _Thank you_ , she says.

 _Be good_ , Erik adds and then Charles quietly withdraws, letting the connection fade.

The entire conversation has taken barely a moment, so Erik clears his throat to speak aloud.  “Yes,” he says, “let’s.”

 

X

 

“It’s funny how it worked out like that,” Charles muses as they lie back together in the field under the clear blue sky.

“What do you mean?” Erik asks.  He’s still trying to wipe the dried blood from his nose off his chin with one hand while his other remains folded around Charles’.

“I used to be such a serene person,” Charles answers idly, “but it turns out that my rage is far more powerful.  And you, my friend, with all your rage— _my_ rage is dull compared to your serenity.”

“Yes,” Erik replies absently, “funny.”

 

X

 

Azazel could teleport them, of course, but Erik has promised Charles never again, so they take an armored truck to the west side of the island.  If he’s honest, Erik doesn’t mind the thought of keeping Shaw waiting, approaching him on their own terms.

Raven is driving, because she knows the best pathways the Genoshans have already cleared through the surprisingly thick jungle of the island that will get them to the west coast the fastest, and Erik and Charles join her in the front cab while everyone else climbs into the back.  Erik is reminded heavily of Russia.

Charles exchanges small talk with his sister, but his mind is focused on Erik’s.  _He’ll be waiting for Emma_ , he murmurs, _but once he realizes it’s us, he’ll most certainly attack_.

 _I wonder which human army he’s hiding behind this time_.  Erik thinks back, eyes focused ahead even as his fingers toy absently with Charles’ on the seat between them.

 _It hardly matters_ , Charles replies, _because we’ll destroy them all.  Just think,_ he adds dreamily, _they won’t have been able to find helmets for all of them._

“Charles.” Raven says, probably for the third or fourth time, bringing them both back to the present world.  “You two are doing it again, what are you plotting?”

“Sorry, darling, what?” Charles asks, but Erik feels him tense.

“Plotting?” Erik asks lightly, because he knows Raven has no reason to actually suspect anything.  “Whatever do you mean?”

Raven glances at them both wryly.  “You both just got really quiet.  Off in your own world again.”

“We’ve been waiting for this for a long time.”  Erik says after a small pause, and Charles squeezes his hand.  “That’s all.”

“Yeah,” Raven says, surprisingly gentle, “I know.”  If Erik knows her as well as he thinks he does, he’s willing to bet that she’s recalling a certain conversation they had in a plane to Texas.

“I’m glad you’re here, Raven.” Charles says, apropos of nothing.

Raven smiles, but it turns into a grin as she answers teasingly, “Yeah, I bet you are, because it’d take you ages to find your way across the island without my help.”

“You’re a wonderful driver.” Charles allows graciously.

Raven laughs, nudging him with her elbow.  “Well, you’d better tell everyone in the back to get ready,” she says, “because we’re almost there.”

 

X

 

“And you’ll have to hold me back,” Charles says, warm in Erik’s arms on the couch, “do you understand me?  You will have to _stop me_ because god, Erik, I will want to kill them all.  I want to kill them all now,” he adds as a whisper, “I shouldn’t, but I do.”

“I understand you.”  Erik answers him gently.  “I promised, didn’t I?  I’ll show compassion where you cannot.”

“Even though you don’t want to?” Charles asks shakily.

Erik debates this for a moment, because he cannot give a quick answer.  “I hate humans,” he says slowly, picking his words carefully, “because they—wrongfully—hate and fear mutants.  But this will change everything quite a bit.  It’s like a compromise.”

“A compromise.” Charles repeats quietly.  Erik can practically hear the gears turning in the telepath’s head.

“Two years ago you would have argued for turning a blind eye,” Erik says without ire, “but now, if you’re willing to do this, I won’t have to make a point with bloodshed.”

“Were my ideals so rotten?” Charles wonders.  “I suppose they were.”  He shivers.

Something about that makes Erik’s heart hurt.  “Not rotten, Charles,” he says, “never rotten.  Just a little unrealistic.”  He smiles faintly.  “Shaw turning you into this has opened my eyes quite a bit too.  I think we were both a little extreme in our views.”

“Quite a lesson we’ve learned, isn’t it?” Charles answers musingly.  “At such a price.”  He probably should sound bitter, but instead the telepath is just weary.  “A compromise.  For acceptance.”

Erik nods.  “Acceptance.”  Everything has a price.

“Alright,” Charles says, “I’ll do it.”

“No,” Erik corrects him gently, “ _we_ will do it.”

 

X

 

The western coast of Genosha is jagged and rocky, with tall cliffs instead of sandy beaches, and the Indian Ocean rolls and crashes violently below as they take up position on a portion of cliff that juts out a little further than the rest.  The ships are close now, twenty in all, and the metal is singing to Erik—he can feel their steel hulls slicing through the water, their guns moving to target the island.

“Holy shit,” Sean says, “Shaw really sent an army after us.”

“That’d be a navy, dude.”  Alex answers, but he’s staring at the ships too, a little wide-eyed.

“Nothing Magneto can’t handle.”  Angel says matter-of-factly.  “This’ll be over in ten minutes.”

“Why would Shaw attack Genosha?” Hank asks skeptically.  “If he’s so pro-mutant, why is he willing to bomb the only mutant country in the world?”

“He’s counting on us to destroy the ships.”  Charles says.  Erik can feel him extending his telepathy out to the ships, circling the minds of the men onboard like a shark in the water.  “Shaw’s original plan was to push the United States and Russia into a nuclear war so that mankind would finish off itself.  Now he’s trying to start a new war—humans versus mutants.”

“ _This_ is why Shaw wanted you both in Genosha.” Alex realizes.

“So you’re doing exactly what he wants.” Hank says flatly.

Charles turns his head slightly, giving the scientist a not-entirely pleasant smile.  “Going to stop us, Hank?”

“Obviously I can’t,” Hank says dryly, and he gives Erik a sharp glance, “but I fail to see whatever reasoning you have behind this.  Going after Shaw, certainly, but at what price?  Igniting a war that we can’t possibly hope to win?”

“Trust us, Hank,” Erik says calmly, “we have a plan.”

“Will you trust us?”  Charles asks, turning to take them all in, blue gaze steady.  The smile he gives now is small and self-deprecating, and suits him infinitely better.  “Does our first class still have confidence in their teachers?”

“Yes.”  Raven speaks first, calm and resolute.

“Definitely,” Sean adds.

“You’re the Professor,” Alex says, as if that’s reason enough, “and Magneto, well, he’s the boss.”

“In it to win it, daddy-o,” Angel reminds them with a smirk.

“Yes,” Hank agrees, sounding mildly affronted, “yes, of course.”

“Well,” Charles says, looking back to Erik so that none of them can see his smile drop off his face and his eyes shutter, “I suppose that’s that.”

“Tell us what you need us to do.” Raven says.

“Spread out a little,” Erik orders, looking back out towards the ships to hide his own expression, “give me some room.”

They all step back at once, moving a little ways back from the edge.  Erik keeps his gaze on the ships, extending his power again, testing the structure of the steel, its strength and weakness.  This is only a fraction of what he will be able to feel once they really get started.

Charles stands closest to Erik on the edge of the cliff.  He laughs suddenly.

Erik tears his eyes away from the ships to look at the telepath.  “What is it?”

“It’s nothing terribly important,” Charles answers idly, but he still sounds faintly amused, “but I thought of a name we could call ourselves, since we’re mutants and code names seem to be a theme.”  His voice is pitched low enough that the others won’t hear.

“Oh?”  Erik thinks he should probably look back out to sea, but Charles’ gaze is captivating and frankly more important.  “And what might that be?”

Charles gives a razor-sharp smile, inclining his head towards the ships.  “Onslaught.”

Erik chuckles, loud enough now for the others to hear, but he doesn’t care.  He raises an arm, extending his hand forward.  He doesn’t have to; it’s just an old habit.  “Then let the onslaught begin.”

Charles raises two fingers to his temple.  He doesn’t have to either.  It’s just an old habit.

Erik grabs onto the first ship, surrounding it entirely with his power, feeling every centimeter of metal that floats on the waves.  He takes a deep breath, calming his mind.  Serenity.  It is his serenity that is the most powerful.

The ship groans, an earsplitting shriek of metal as Erik rips it in two, slamming dents into the hull until it collapses completely, water rushing in.  Alarms are blaring, men are shouting— _Ah_ , Charles whispers, pleased, _they_ don’t _all have helmets_ —men are going deathly quiet, smoke is rising as Erik finds the engine and superheats it, melting it down in the blink of an eye.  He feels around for every single weapon on board, their shapes highlighted in his mind like bright flares, and then he crushes them, crushes them all.

Erik comes back to himself a little bit, looking at the destruction he’s wrought from afar now.  The ship is sinking, floating wreckage and bodies scattered in the waves.  Erik feels his adrenaline coursing through his veins, but he remains calm and steady as he surveys the scene.

“Here they come.”  Charles murmurs from beside him.

Erik smiles.  “Let them try.”

A blast of sound echoes from across the waves and there are missiles in the air now, rocketing towards the Genoshan cliffs, enough to blast this entire side of the island to pieces.  Erik is dimly aware of the others starting behind him, with various sharp intakes of breath, but beside him Charles is motionless, watching Erik out of the corner of his eyes.

The missiles are nearly on them.  Erik’s hand is still raised, and he slowly spreads his fingers.

“Whoa.”  Sean’s voice drifts forward in the sudden silence.

The missiles hang suspended in midair, floating on the warm sea breeze.  Erik likes how they feel in the hold of his power; it’s almost as if they are vibrating with their pent-up energy, waiting for the slightest opportunity to erupt.  His fingers twitch, and the missiles slowly rotate, turning until they’re facing back the way they came.

“Erik.  Charles.”  Hank speaks, and Erik can tell that he’s trying hard to keep his voice steady.  “Are you sure about this?”

“They seemed rather sure when they fired the missiles in the first place, Hank.”  Charles answers him softly, though without any malice.

“Yeah, Professor,” Sean adds weakly, “but, like, there are a _lot_ of people out there.”

“There are a lot of people on this island, Sean,” Angel replies firmly, “ _our_ people.”

Alex opens his mouth to say something but then it closes it again, looking conflicted.

“What if they don’t even know who they’re fighting?”  Hank asks.  “Shaw’s the one who sent them here, who knows how much they actually know.  They could just be following orders.”

Charles stiffens beside him, drawing in a shallow breath as he glances at Erik because he _knows_ , and Erik feels as if the blood in his veins has turned to ice.  He turns his head to look back at Hank and the others, fixing them with a flat stare.  “I’ve been at the mercy of men just following orders,” he says, slowly and clearly, his gaze finding Raven’s since she is the only one who is able to look back at him.  She gives him a small nod, and Erik looks forward again.  “Never again.”

Erik clenches his fist and lets the missiles fly.

The ships are decimated.

The missiles impact simultaneously, detonating on the ships that fired them in the first place with an explosion that Erik feels with every atom of his body; the metal that melts and twists and breaks and in some cases, completely disintegrates.  They’re hit with a wall of sound, loud enough for Erik’s hearing to blank out for a few moments, before noise rushes back in again like air into a vacuum.

Charles sways slightly, his eyes slightly glassy, and no doubt he’s caught up in the minds of the dead and dying.  Erik puts a hand on the telepath’s shoulder, squeezing the bruise hidden beneath the blue and yellow flight suit gently.

Charles winces, but his eyes clear as the pain grounds him, and the corners of his lips quirk upwards in a small, knowing smile.

“Where’s Shaw?” Alex asks, scanning the burning wreckage of the ships as if expecting the other mutant to materialize like Azazel.

“He’s underwater,” Charles answers him idly, “hiding in a submarine.”

Angel curses in Spanish.  “The submarine!  Professor, that crazy bastard has a bomb on that thing!”

Charles gives a small laugh.  “Yes, we know.”

“How do you know all this?” Alex asks warily.  “Erik said the same thing when Avalanche told us about the ships in the first place.”

“How else did you think we knew Shaw was coming?”  Erik asks absently.  He’s spreading his power out, casting his senses beneath the waves, searching…  “Emma Frost had tea with Charles.”

“Shit,” Sean says with an incredulous laugh, “you guys caught her?”

“You shouldn’t worry,” Charles answers absently as he slides into Erik’s mind, “we have a plan.”

“What exactly is this plan?”  Hank asks slowly, eyes beginning to narrow.

“Well—” Erik stops.

 _Ah_ , Charles says idly, tracing the large, metal shape that Erik holds in his mind’s eye, _found you_.

“Erik?” Raven asks, and even she is beginning to sound the slightest bit unsure.

Erik raises his arm again, splaying his hand wide.  He can feel every inch of the submarine; this is nothing like the way he’d desperately dug his claws into the hull like he had in Miami five years ago.  He breathes in, out, in, out, and then begins to lift.

The propellers break through the surface of the water first, rotating futility as Erik pulls them out of the water.  The submarine is heavy—heavy with metal, heavy with the drag of water, heavy with the pull of gravity—but Erik takes another breath, settling his thoughts and letting the pull of his powers overtake him completely, and then he barely notices the weight as he lifts the submarine out of the water completely.

Charles smiles, his laugh ringing softly through Erik’s head rather than out loud.  _You’re incredible, darling_.

Erik lifts the submarine higher, until it’s nearly level with the cliff.  He pulls it towards them and the submarine glides through the air, still dripping water and its silver hull glinting in the sunlight, and he lets it drift to a halt when it’s hovering several meters away.

“You’ll have to call Azazel for a ride home.” Erik says absently, reaching back for the truck they’d taken to get here and ripping its body off, forming the metal into a sheet as he floats it over all of their heads.

“What are you doing?”  Alex asks blankly.

Erik exchanges a glance with Charles, before looking back at their team.  “Saying goodbye.”

 

X

 

“We should get back to the mansion.”  Erik remarks quietly after they’ve laid in silence for a few moments, listening to the whisper of the breeze and the buzzing of insects.  Even to his own ears he doesn’t sound very convincing.

“Do you think it will work?” Charles asks instead.  Unlike Erik, he’s made no move to wipe the dried blood from his nose away.

“It’ll work.”  Erik knows this with absolute certainty.  “Who knows what will happen _because_ of it, but it’ll work.”

“That’s not an answer at all.” Charles says, but he doesn’t sound reproachful.

Erik chuckles, absently stroking his thumb across the back of Charles’ hand.  “Close enough, _schatz_.”

“Erik.”  Charles turns his head, looking over at Erik.  It looks like his eyes have soaked up all the blue of the sky.  “The amount of energy it will take to make this work, to make it stick, to make it real…”

“Yes,” Erik answers, holding Charles’ gaze, “I know.”

 

X

 

Charles taps into their minds gently, freezing them in place before they can do anything rash.  _It has been an honor and a privilege_ , he says to them directly, _I’m sorry it has to be this way_.

All of their thoughts are racing, a confusing babble of confusion-betrayal- _whataretheydoing_ -realization, and even some anger that Charles lets wash over him, giving them one last small, truly self-deprecating smile.

 _Professor_ , Alex is thinking, over and over again, and he’s the one brimming with the most anger, _this isn’t a game, let us go, let us help—_

Sean’s mind is forlorn, but out of them all he’s the most calm, regarding Charles and Erik thoughtfully.  _You know_ , he thinks, _I always kind of thought that you guys were on your own level.  Should’ve seen this coming._

Angel is angry too, but she’s more cool and matter-of-fact than anything else.  _I hope your revenge is worth it._

 _Why’d you even bring us along?_  Hank is thinking, a mixture of angry-sad-defeated.  _We couldn’t have stopped you if we tried._

But it is Raven who Charles looks at, holding her gaze and letting her anger-grief-betrayal-denial wash over him the strongest, because as much as it hurts, he deserves every last second of it.

 _No, Charles_ , she thinks, directly at him, _you can’t do this.  You promised me forever_.

 _I promised you a great many things, I’m afraid_ , Charles answers, _I’m so sorry_.

 _Is there no other way?_   Raven thinks, and Charles knows that she desperately wants to reach for him.  _You and Erik, I can’t—_

 _You can_.  Charles assures her gently.  Erik gives him a mental nudge—they’re running out of time.  _I love you, darling_.

 _Charles_.  Raven doesn’t have to think the same words back because she’s projecting her love, fierce and unwilling to let go.  _Hold my hand_.

Charles cracks another smile, and then gently alters her perception so that she feels his hand wrap around hers.  _Always_.

“Charles.”  Erik says quietly.

Charles takes a step back, looking at Raven for a few moments longer, and then turns.  Erik has laid out his sheet of metal in midair, and it stretches like a bridge between the cliff and the floating submarine.  Charles doesn’t hesitate and steps out onto the path, Erik close behind him, and begins to walk towards the submarine.

 _We held on for as long as we could,_ Charles says to them all, still holding them frozen in place even as he feels Erik beginning to peel their metal bridge away from the cliff, _but I think it’s time we let go now.  I asked you to trust us.  We’ve proven that we can’t be trusted at all,_ and here he gives a small, weary chuckle, _but I ask that you trust us one more time._

As they reach the submarine Erik peels the hull back, creating an opening into the vessel with a screech of metal.  Charles ducks down, Erik’s hand on the small of his back steadying him as he climbs inside.  Once Erik has stepped in after him, the metal-bender lets the metal from the truck drop down to the waves below.

Together they turn and look back at the Genoshan cliff to their teammates, their children, their friends.  Gently, Charles releases them, but he keeps his invisible hand wrapped around Raven’s.

 _I’m sorry_ , he repeats to all of them, as Erik gives them one slow, steady nod, _I’m sorry.  But this is all for you._

Erik pulls the hull of the submarine shut, and Raven, Alex, Sean, Angel, and Hank disappear from view as they are sealed inside.

“Hold on,” Erik murmurs, and then the submarine begins to fall.

 

X

 

“Do you want this back yet?”

Erik glances sideways at Charles as he drives.  The telepath has been mostly quiet ever since they’ve pulled away from the smoking remains of his mansion, but now he’s looking over at Erik, one hand lifted, palm up.  The silver coin glints in the sunlight.

Erik looks back at the road but lifts the coin with his power, letting it float in the air for a moment.  He’s been aware of its presence countless times as Charles has carried it, but this is the first time in a long time that he’s actually touched it with his power.  Every groove in the surface is still intimately familiar.

After a moment he lets it drop back down into Charles’ waiting palm.  “No.  Not yet.”

 

X

 

Erik grabs Charles just before the submarine hits the water, slamming him back against the wall and magnetizing himself over him, holding them both in place as the vessel shudders, jolting horribly as it crashes back into waves.  Erik waits until things have gone relatively still before he unsticks himself from the wall, stepping back to let Charles down as well.

“Are you alright?” Erik asks him as they both straighten.

“Couldn’t have just lowered it, could you?” Charles asks, but he sounds mostly amused, if not shaky.

“It was _heavy_ , Charles.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”  Charles answers absently, his eyes growing distant.

“Is he here?”  Erik watches him steadily.

“I can’t sense Shaw,” Charles replies after a moment, “but that doesn’t mean anything, he probably has one of those bloody helmets.  Ah.  He has a crew.”

“Get rid of them.”

Charles blinks up at him, giving him a mirthless smile.  “Already taken care of, love.”  His smile fades, growing serious.  “Shaw had his nuclear reactor powered up.  I had one man disable it, but Shaw’s probably already absorbed as much as he can from it.”

“Perfect.”  Erik nods and then grabs Charles’ hand, taking off through the submarine with the telepath in tow.  Shaw is here, they are close, Shaw is here.  He has been waiting 23 years for this.

“Are we moving?” Charles asks, drifting along behind Erik calmly, allowing the metal-bender to set their pace.  They have to step over a body at one point, slumped in the narrow hall.

“I’m just moving us a little further away from the island,” Erik answers absently, “seemed prudent.”

Charles makes a small noncommittal sound in reply, squeezing Erik’s hand tight.

Erik pushes open a door, and then they’re standing in a room eerily similar to the one he’d stumbled into five years ago in the Texas base.  Everything is pristinely white and neatly ordered; a fancy sitting room in the middle of a submarine.  Erik is thrown for a moment, his eyes darting to all corners of the room only to find it empty.

“Where is he?” Erik asks into the silence, dropping Charles’ hand to stalk forward several paces, turning around restlessly in place.  They’re so close that he can taste it, but Shaw is nowhere to be seen.  “Damn it, Charles, where—”

There is the soft hiss of a door sliding open behind him and Erik sees Charles stiffen.  Erik looks back over his shoulder.

“Erik, Charles.”  Shaw stands in the center of a mirrored room, looking at them both from beneath a gleaming helmet.  “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Hello, Sebastian.”  Charles says softly, and the temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees.

Erik turns slowly, not wanting his back to this man any longer.  Just the mere sight of Shaw sends his blood boiling, a gathering storm of pent-up violence in his fingertips, where his power longs to tear Shaw to shreds.  Charles steps up beside him, their shoulders brushing, and Erik sucks in a breath.

“So good to see you again.” Shaw says as they start forward together slowly, stepping towards him.

“I wish,” Charles says, because Erik can’t seem to be able to speak, “that we could say the same.”  Silently, in Erik’s head, the telepath is shaking.  _The mirrors, Erik_.

 _They won’t be there long_ , Erik thinks.  He tries to grip the helmet on Shaw’s head, but his power slides right off, the material as dead to him as Shaw’s mind must be to Charles.  _His helmet isn’t made of magnetic material, I can’t grab it._

 _It won’t be there long_ , Charles murmurs, and they step into the mirrored room, the door sliding shut behind them.

“Look at you both.”  Shaw says, his cold eyes raking across them each in turn.  “You’ve done so well destroying all the human soldiers I’ve sent tottering into your path.  I’m sure the ships didn’t last a minute, did they?  You powers have grown.”

Erik continues on his measured path forward towards Shaw while Charles hangs back, beginning to slowly circle around the edge of the room.  Shaw keeps his gaze focused on Erik, ignoring the telepath for the time being.

“I’m sorry for what happened in the camps.  I truly am.” Shaw says as Erik comes to a stop barely a foot away.  And then, without warning, Shaw reaches out to tap Erik lightly on the forehead.

The tap holds the same amount of force as being hit by a truck.  Erik flies backwards, slamming into the glass paneling and dropping to the floor with a grunt, a few shards falling down around him.

“Erik!”  Charles takes a step forward from where he’s halfway across the room.

 _Stop_ , Erik thinks as loudly as he can, so that the telepath comes to a jerky halt.  _Stay there for now_.

Shaw advances on him slowly, looking down at him with the same clinical interest that Erik remembers from his childhood.  “But everything I did, I did for you.”  Shaw is in front of him now, leaning over him.  “To unlock your power.  To make you…embrace it.”  He reaches down and grabs Erik by one of the straps of his flight suit, hauling Erik up and over his head as if Erik weighs no more than a feather and hurls him against the far wall.

This time when Erik hits the glass the entire mirror shatters and when he hits the ground his head is reeling, blood splattering down on the ground in front of him.  He’s dimly aware of a commotion across the room, and by the time he’s gotten his vision straight again and looks up, Shaw is slamming Charles back against the glass with two hands, crushing the air out of the telepath’s lungs as Charles struggles against his merciless grip.

“And you, Charles,” Shaw says idly, slowly pushing the telepath up the wall with his super strength so that Charles’ feet are dangling, “I erased all of your inhibitions.  You’ve come a long way from merely just reading minds.  I’m so proud of you.  But you _are_ unfinished.”

Erik scrambles to his feet, reaching up into the ceiling with his power, grasping onto the metal of the submarine’s main framework and pulling, wrenching thick girders down and smashing them into Shaw, knocking him away from Charles.  Shaw takes a step back as if in slow motion but he drops the telepath and Charles sags, sliding back down the wall as he gasps for breath.

Shaw turns back to survey Erik calmly.  “You both are.  You’re both just starting to scratch the surface.”

Erik is panting as well, and when Shaw starts walking towards him again he rips down more pipes from the ceiling, flinging them at Shaw with all of his might.  Shaw bats them away, backing Erik up against the wall.  There’s one last girder between them and Erik uses both hands to push it forward, desperately trying to smash the metal into Shaw’s ribs.

Shaw stops it with a finger.  “Think of how much further we could go,” he continues, slamming the girder back against Erik, “all three of us, together.”

Erik coughs as the girder crushes him against the wall, turning his face to the side as Shaw leans in close.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Erik.  I never did.”  Shaw puts his other hand against the back of Erik’s head as Erik struggles for breath, a mockery of gentleness.  “I want to help you.  This is our time.  Our age.  We are the future of the human race.  You, me, and Charles, son.  This world could be ours.”

Erik doesn’t want to answer him, but he needs Shaw’s full attention focused entirely on him for just a few moments longer.  “Everything you did,” he says in a rasp, “made me stronger.  Made me the weapon I am today.  It’s the truth.  I’ve known it all along.”  He turns his head so that he’s looking directly at Shaw, and Shaw begins to smile.  “But Charles made me _better_.”

Shaw’s eyes widen as if he’d forgotten about the telepath in his bid to corner Erik and he begins to turn around but Charles is already there, wrenching the helmet off with both hands.  Shaw throws out an arm and knocks Charles off his feet but it’s already too late—even as Charles hits the ground, Shaw freezes in place, motionless.

From the floor on his back, clutching the helmet with both hands, Charles smirks.

Erik lets the girder drop, stepping over it and circling around Shaw slowly as he catches his breath, coming to a stop beside Charles and offering him an arm up.  Charles drops the helmet and grips Erik’s hand and allows himself to be pulled to his feet, all the while keeping his gaze locked with Shaw’s.

“Well,” Charles says dreamily, and Erik can only imagine what he’s doing in Shaw’s mind, “how the times have changed.”  He kicks the helmet aside, sending it rolling off into a corner.

“Leave him lucid, Charles,” Erik warns, splaying a hand on the telepath’s back, “I want him to be aware when he dies.”

“Of course, darling,” Charles answers, “he’ll feel every moment of it.”  Still staring into Shaw’s eyes, he lifts a hand slowly, holding up Erik’s silver coin.  “This is what we’re going to do.”

 

X

 

“Do you think it will hurt?”  Charles asks musingly.  The sky overhead is beginning to tint with orange and pink as the sun begins to sink down below the tree line on the edge of the field.

“It could,” Erik answers him quietly, watching a bird swoop past, “but it’ll be over soon.”

“I suppose that’s all that matters.”

“Yes,” Erik agrees, “it is.”

 

X

 

“Destroy the rest of the mirrors.”

Erik obeys, picking up a long section of pipe with his power and smashing it into the remaining glass, sending shards everywhere across the floor.  The room looks barren now.

For Charles, it’s also less confining.

“Thank you, _liebling_.”  Erik says as he floats the coin out of Charles’ hand and into his own palm, closing his fingers around it tightly.

“You’re welcome, darling.”  Charles answers absently.  Looking into Shaw’s mind is like gazing into a black hole, its dreadful pull nearly suffocating as it threats to draw him in and consume him.  Shaw is old, far older than Charles would have guessed, and he knows how to make things difficult for telepaths as he tries again and again to sink his mental claws into the edges of Charles’ mind but Charles holds his own, battering him back with all the fire and rage he can muster, lighting up all of Shaw’s pain receptors to the point where if he hadn’t been frozen, Shaw would be incoherent with screaming agony.

 _You’re right_ , Charles tells him silently, making sure that his words cut through Shaw’s agony so that the man can hear him, _this is our time, our age.  But there’s no room in the future for any of us.  Especially not you.  Our time is here and now._ He pauses, listening to Shaw’s screams.  _And it’s nearly over._

Erik’s hand is still splayed possessively against his back and Charles uses that as his ground, keeping himself constantly aware of that warm, heavy weight so that all of Shaw’s attempts to draw Charles deeper into his mind fail.

“He’s absorbed nearly all of the energy from his nuclear reactor,” Charles reports softly, “he thinks he’s ready to blow up the world.  It’s time.”

Erik’s hand moves, sliding down Charles’ back to wrap around his waist, and Charles feels himself being pulled close to the metal-bender so he goes without resisting.  “I’m ready when you are.”  Erik says, bowing his head to press his forehead against Charles’.

Charles closes his eyes, lips quirking up in a small smile.  _As am I_.

Their foreheads touch and Charles dives into Erik’s mind, the only true place he ever feels at home.  Everything is neatly ordered here, sparse but efficient, as familiar to Charles as his own mind.  He finds where Erik’s control of his power comes from and circles for a moment, humming softly.  They’ve only done this once before.

 _Go on,_ Erik murmurs, right alongside Charles.  He’s tempering his rage, pushing it down in favor of a cool well of serene calm, ready and waiting.  _I’m right here.  I’m with you._

 _I love you._ Charles thinks, and then opens the reserves of Erik’s power, throwing open the metallokinetic’s mind wide and then weaving his telepathy all throughout, adding his increased brainpower to Erik’s, interlacing their minds together.

There’s a moment of stillness, and Erik chuckles.  _And I love you_.  Then he reaches out with his power, and Charles feels as if they’ve launched themselves into space.

Charles opens his eyes to meet the lightning in Erik’s as their shared awareness resonates out, riding on the magnetic field lines of the very Earth that Erik can feel, touch, control; spreading themselves out across the entirety of the planet.  They are a supernova of power and Charles thinks he is laughing, high on the rush of absolute supremacy, but he can’t tell for sure as he gathers up all the bright points of light that spread out before them, millions and _billions_ of them, that represent all the minds in the world.  He doesn’t need Cerebro, not when he has Erik, whose joy is palpable beside Charles’, a giddy flood that echoes between them, amplified by their shared minds, their shared powers.

Erik could magnetize the world, reverse the polarity of _everything_ , grab the entire planet with his power and fling it into space, send them all spiraling into nothingness.  Charles feels him testing the magnetic field, swirling through the invisible particles, and then diving down deep within the earth to the planet’s iron core, reveling as the liquid outer shifts against the solid inner, drawing more energy as the process generates the fields that give Erik his power.

 _I could kill them_ , Charles whispers, looking down at all the minds he holds under his sway, tapping into their consciousnesses all at once, hearing their thoughts and feelings and hopes and fears and dreams all at once, buried in humanity, in the world.  It’s nearly overwhelming, beautiful and ugly all at once, and Charles feels the connection between him and Erik crackle.  _I could destroy them all_.

 _No, Charles_.  Erik moves up beside him gently, looking down at humanity with him.  _They might deserve it.  But you’re better than that.  I’m not,_ he adds with a weary laugh, _but for you, I can be._

 _Do you feel this, Sebastian?_  Charles murmurs to the man he still holds in stasis.  _The world_ is _ours.  But not yours.  Never yours._

 _I agree with every word you’ve said,_ Erik adds, flexing his power and making the world tremble, _we are superior.  Mutants are better than humans.  But Charles and I…we’re superior to you._

 _We can go so much farther without you,_ Charles says, _and we will build a future that not even you could hope to match._

 _Now, Charles,_ Erik urges.

Charles might take a deep breath.  He isn’t sure.  He and Erik are so tightly entwined with their combined power that he can barely sense his own self.  Then Charles reaches down with his telepathy, into the minds of the humans, and then into the minds of the mutants.  Everyone.  All at once.

Humans or mutants, their minds are all the same.  Charles laughs.  All the same.

 _ACCEPT_.  Charles laces his voice with command with every bit of strength that he has, and Erik lets it resonate through the very earth, cementing it into being and amplifying Charles’ order around the world.  _ACCEPT_.

Charles can feel the command clicking into place in the billions of minds he holds, settling into reality.  It is like what Shaw has done to him—he is reformulating the minds of the world, forcing humans to accept mutants and mutants to accept humans.  It is an inexcusable act, a selfish endeavor, building the world into something that he and Erik want.  He can feel some minds slipping into this new ideal easily, open-minded and calm, while other minds struggle, fighting like Charles himself once did.

There will still be conflict in the world, he thinks as he draws back, exhausted.  There will still be disagreements, there will still be wars.  But not over a few different genomes of DNA.

 _Brilliant, Charles_ , Erik says as he draws them back down gently, bringing them back down to themselves again, _you are brilliant_.

Charles can feel his telepathy flickering weakly, but he manages to pass Erik the vague feeling of a weary grin.  _Thank you, darling_.  He’s blinking suddenly, standing back on the ground in a submarine, looking up into Erik’s eyes.  He can feel the warm trickle of blood leaking from his nose and ears, and Erik looks no better, but they share a real grin this time, bright and full.

Something slams into Charles’ back, and all he knows is pain.

 

X

 

“And then we will fly too close to the sun…”

“Icarus wasn’t a god, Charles.  He was a mortal.”

Charles laughs.  “Exactly, my friend.  _Exactly_.”

Erik gives a wry smile.  “Well.  We already knew that bit.”

“Yes, I know.”  Charles’ fingers slide against Erik’s as the telepath adjusts his grip on Erik’s hand.  “I’m alright with it.  It’s okay.  Just…”  He meets Erik’s gaze.  “Promise me one last thing.”

“Anything, Charles.”

“Don’t leave me.”  Charles is squeezing his hand now.  “Do _not_ go before I do.”

“Charles,” Erik replies, “they couldn’t make me if they tried.”

 

X

 

Charles is wrenched out of Erik’s grasp with a scream by the sheer force of the hit as Shaw smashes a fist into the telepath, and then backhands Erik in his follow-through.  Erik hears something crack as he hits the ground, head spinning.  Shaw must have broken loose from Charles’ control because the telepath is exhausted, his power nearly completely expended.

Erik rolls to his feet with a snarl, ignoring the painful sting of the glass shards that slice through his palms as he launches himself across the room to where Charles lays collapsed, landing on his knees and pulling the telepath halfway up into his arms.  Charles makes an agonized sound, eyes wide and pained, and Erik stills immediately, resting Charles against his thighs.

Shaw is panting, eyes wild as he stares at them, one arm still extended.  “You,” he says, taking a step forward, “what have you—”  Then he’s frozen again, quavering where he stands.

Charles whimpers, gritting his teeth.  “I’m sorry,” he says, struggling to get the words out, “I can’t keep this up much longer.  Do it now, Erik.”

“I’ve got you.”  Erik says to him, and then raises his head to look up at Shaw.  “You killed my mother.  You destroyed Charles’ mind.”  The silver coin has been lost in the chaos of the past few moments, but now it drifts up out of the metal and glass to hover in the air over Charles.  “So I’m going to count to three.  And I’m going to move the coin.”  The coin begins to roll forward.  “One.”

“It’s going to hurt,” Charles whispers, shaking in Erik’s arms, “but don’t stop, Erik, don’t stop.”

Erik squeezes his arm in understanding, his gaze never leaving Shaw.  “Two.”  The coin is drifting closer, halving the distance.

“We have defied you,” Charles is saying feverishly, his eyes glassy, whispering aloud what he is screaming into Shaw’s mind, “you and everything that you stand for, you have failed, you will die knowing that you are _nothing_ —”

“Three.”  Erik says, and the coin presses into Sebastian Shaw’s forehead and Charles begins to scream.

Erik pushes the coin through Shaw’s head, straight through his skull and brain and out the other side, letting the coin drop to the ground as Shaw pitches forward, a puppet whose strings have been cut.

Shaw is dead.  The nightmare is over.

Erik looks back down at Charles, lowering his hand gently to brush the telepath’s sweaty hair off his forehead.  “We did it, Charles.”  He is weak with exhaustion and relief, and his eyes are watery.  “It’s over.”

Charles is panting, blood and sweat smeared across his face but only serving to emphasize the blue of his eyes.  “It’s over,” he repeats with a ragged sob, “Erik, it’s finally over.”

Erik imagines that he looks no better.  He rests his hand on Charles’ chest and leans down to press a kiss against Charles’ lips.  “You can rest now.”

“Oh, my friend,” Charles says with a small, breathy laugh as a single tear tracks down his cheek, “ _we_ can rest now.”

Erik nods slowly, pressing his forehead against Charles’ one last time.  “That’s right,” he breathes out as a soft sigh, “that’s right.”

Charles brings a hand up to rest on the back of Erik’s head, holding him gently down in place, keeping their foreheads close.  “It’s going to be alright.”

Erik chuckles lightly, allowing himself one last, fond smile.  “ _Alles ist gut_.”

Charles merely nods, closing his eyes.

Erik gathers Charles to himself as closely as he can, closing his eyes as well.  He unfurls his power one last time, slowly wrapping it around the submarine.  They are in deep water now.  It should be enough.

His control is shaky, but Erik makes sure to be as thorough as he can, grasping on to every bolt and rivet of the submarine.  Charles is still in his arms, his breathing slowing, but Erik can feel him dimly, tracking Erik’s progress and following along even with his telepathy all but burnt out.

Once he’s sure that he has the entirety of the vessel under his power, Erik breathes, “I love you,” and then crushes down.

 

X

 

Raven knows that they are gone as soon as the ghost of Charles’ grip on her hand fades, leaving her hand as empty as her heart.

“They’re gone,” she says aloud, even though she’s sure that the others can feel it too.  Her voice sounds alien to her own ears.

The others are standing beside her, and they all still stand on the edge of the cliff where Erik and Charles left them.  Where they had watched the submarine fall, and then as it sank beneath the waves, jetting away from the island.  Where they had felt the vast presence of Charles and Erik combined, where they had heard and had no choice but to obey Charles’ last command.

“What have they done?”  Hank asks into the silence, shocked and pained.  “What have they _done_?”

“They’ve given us the future, dude.”  Sean speaks up, looking thoughtful.  He nods to himself.  “You get it, right?  They could’ve killed the humans.  They could’ve killed us all.  But they didn’t.”

“They gave the word something to hate,” Angel adds softly, “making that choice for us all, those arrogant bastards.  And then they took that something away.”  She smiles, only a small twinge of bitterness evident in her face.  “Removed themselves from the equation.”

“What do we do now?”  Alex asks blankly.  “They’re _gone_.”

It is silent at first, save for the sound of the breeze and of the waves crashing against the rocks below.  No one has an answer.

“We take what they’ve given us.” Raven says suddenly, turning around to face them.  Her golden eyes are alight, fierce and proud as she looks between them all.  “And then we build a better world.”

 

X

 

“Charles,” Erik says, and if his voice hits a pleading note then who can really blame him, “Charles, it’s me.”

It takes several long moments before Charles musters up the strength to answer, breath stuttering horribly as he tries to breathe.  He’s shaking, entire body trembling.

“Erik,” Charles says, his voice cracking, “Erik, I want to die.”

There are no words that can adequately describe how Erik feels after hearing those words come out of Charles Xavier’s mouth.  Charles is the most presumptuous, sanctimonious, naïve— _bright, optimistic, inspirational_ —person Erik has ever met, he is the only person Erik loves—and he is sure of that now, there is no lingering doubt in his mind—but to hear those words, slipping out of Charles’ mouth coupled with Charles’ broken expression, is like complete and utter defeat.

But defeat was never an option.

“No.”  Erik moves, shifting forward so that his knees are on either side of Charles’ thighs, kneeling so that he’s hovering over the telepath, bowing his head until their foreheads touch.  “You aren’t going to die.  You don’t _get_ to die.”  He heaves a shuddering breath of his own, closing his eyes.  “Shaw has taken everything from me, but he doesn’t get to take you.  Whatever he’s done to you, no matter what it is, you’re stronger.”

Charles is shaking his head, his forehead bumping against Erik’s.  “I can’t—I’m not—”

“You are.”  Erik says, gripping the telepath’s shoulders tightly.  “I know you are.  And that’s all that matters.  You helped me once, Charles.  Let me help you.”

Charles breathes for a few moments, and Erik can feel him calming slowly, his initial hysteria fading.  “Okay.” Charles says shakily, sounding unsure.  “I can do that.”

“That’s right.”  Erik gently lowers the shields on his mind, opening himself up slowly.  “We’re going to make this work, you and I.”  He loosens his grip on Charles’ shoulders but stays where he is, close and comforting.  _You and I, Charles, you and I_.

Despite all the pain, Charles’ touch on his mind is tentative and feather-light.  He slides into Erik’s mind, and it feels like two puzzle pieces clicking together into perfect shape, fitting together just right.  It feels like coming home.

 _Yes_.  Charles says softly, mind-to-mind, his thoughts unfurling alongside Erik’s in perfect harmony, and in that moment, Erik knows that he’ll be okay.  They both will.  _Us._


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've wanted to tell you all this since the very beginning, but the title of this fic comes from the song "Us" by Regina Spektor. It will quickly become very apparent why. :)
> 
> If for some reason you've never heard the song before, off you trot! Listen to it at least once sometime, it's rather lovely.
> 
> For what it's worth, this is the exact ending I've had in mind ever since posting the prologue, so it may not be the sort of ending you'd like, but I'm happy with it all the same. :)
> 
> I can't thank you all enough for all the comments and the kudos along the way, so one more time: thank you!

Kitty Pryde phases her way casually through the crowd, passing through people as easily as she does walls as she makes her way to the tall stage and podium set up in the north end of the square.  There are a lot of people here today, she notes, though it stands to reason.  Today is a big day.

 She passes by several familiar faces on her way up to the front; like Pyro and Iceman, bickering about something as always, and she even thinks she catches a glimpse of Rogue giggling at a grumbling Wolverine.  She doesn’t stop to say hello, continuing on her way until she reaches the front of the crowd and comes to a stop in front of the stage.  The podium has already been draped with Genosha’s colors and set up with numerous different microphones.  Several empty chairs line the back of the stage, waiting for their designated occupants to arrive.  The crowd is murmuring, relaxed and at ease as they wait, an air of general comradely permeating the air.

A hand lands on her shoulder.  “I saw that Kitty,” Ororo admonishes even though she’s smiling, “you shouldn’t just phase through people like that, it’s rather rude.”

Kitty grins.  “It’s not like they noticed, Stormy.  And I wanted to come stand with you guys.”

“In our prime, front row seats?” Scott asks dryly from Ororo’s other side.  His red sunglasses actually look natural for once—it’s a bright and sunny day.

“Honestly, Scott.”  Scott’s girlfriend Jean says with a roll of her eyes.  Kitty’s only met her once or twice and thinks she’s nice, if a little unnerving at times.  “You’ll be fine standing for an hour or two.  They couldn’t fit enough seats up here for everyone if they tried.”

“I’m pretty sure half of Genosha is here,” Kitty agrees with a laugh, “along with the usual foreign dignitary brigade.  And a couple hundred tourists, give or take.”

“Not to mention those reporters and camera crews.” Ororo’s looking at the press section, set up off to the side of the stage.

As Kitty follows her gaze, the cameras start flashing, marking the arrival of—well, someone.  It takes a few moments, but eventually she can make out Alex Summers’ blond hair as he makes his way up towards the stage, giving the cameras a nod and a wave.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Scott mutters, “it’s just Alex.”

“He is pretty handsome.”  Kitty says speculatively.

“Don’t even go there.” Scott answers flatly.

Instead of climbing up onto the stage, Alex catches sight of his brother and squeezes through the crowd to join them.  “Scott, you made it after all.”  He gives his brother a handshake that turns into a one-armed hug.

Despite his attitude, Scott is smiling.  “You can thank Jeanie.  I certainly didn’t want to come here just to watch your ugly face get photographed a thousand times.”

Alex rolls his eyes.  “Hello ladies,” he says instead to Jean, Ororo, and Kitty, “I’m sorry you have to stand next to this loser.”  The Summers brothers can never resist trading insults, no matter how juvenile.  Kitty takes it as a sign of all being right in the world.

“Alex, get back over here!”  The cameras are going off again, this time because Angel Salvadore has arrived, dragonfly wings spread wide as she beckons.  Kitty gives her a small wave that Angel returns with a wink.

Alex sighs.  “I hate the press.  Listen, let’s catch up while you’re all still in town, alright?”

“I’ll call you.”  Scott pounds him on the back.  “Go get ’em, tiger.”

“Shut up, Scotty.”  Alex pushes his way back over to greet Angel and give the press another photo op.

“Look, Sean’s here.”  Ororo says, and Kitty scans the crowd eagerly for her favorite teacher from her academy days.

His mop of ginger hair is easily discernible, his usually goofy grin teasing around the corners of his mouth even as he bends closer to the woman he’s walking next to, listening intently to whatever it is that she’s saying.  Kitty recognizes her after a moment—Moira MacTaggert, the United States’ main ambassador to Genosha.  The two catch up with Angel and Alex, and Kitty laughs when Sean plants himself in front of the cameras with a wide grin, spreading his arms for a moment to show off the special design of his suit—his jacket spreads out into wings.

“He would.”  Ororo is laughing along with Kitty and they exchange grins.

“Cassidy is such a nut.”  Scott is shaking his head but Kitty’s willing to bet that he’s trying very hard not to smile.  “I still have a hard time seeing him as a politician.  I know him too well, you know?”

“Well he’s practically your second brother.”  Jean says wryly.  “He’s quite good, though.  Have you ever seen him in debates?  He can go on for hours and he’s got some pretty well-thought-out logic.”

Scott mutters something about weed, which Kitty thinks is probably accurate.

“There’s Hank!”  Ororo says fondly.

Hank is even easier to spot than Sean, his neatly groomed blue fur like a beacon as he joins the rest of his peers.  Kitty hasn’t seen Hank in a long time—when he’s on Genosha, he’s usually in a lab, and when he’s not, he’s usually attending some UN function and then she’ll catch brief glimpses of him on TV in the news, serious and almost imposing, always dressed immaculately in his specially tailored suits.  Today his suit is no less immaculate but he looks relaxed, clapping Sean and Alex on the shoulders as they get together for the cameras.

Scott cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Beast!”  He breaks off with a grin when Hank raises a hand in acknowledgement.  They can all see his eye roll from where they stand.

“He come by to see you yet, Storm?”  Kitty asks, grinning.  Ororo had always been Hank’s favorite student when he’d taught at the academy.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll swing through,” Ororo says, “he always likes to come by and see the school.”

“And the lovely Headmistress.”

“Or give a guest lecture or two.”  Ororo corrects dryly.

Kitty wants to tease her a little more but she’s drowned out by the applause of the crowd as Hank, Alex, Sean, and Angel take the stage—the First Class gathered together for the first time in months.  It’s not really an official title, more of a nickname given by the media, what, five or so years ago, Kitty thinks, but it’d certainly stuck.

Sean waves, easy-going grin never faltering for a second, and when he catches sight of Kitty he gives her a thumbs up that she returns with a laugh.  Angel waves too, blowing a few random kisses out into the crowd as her wings flutter.  Alex and Hank are a little more reserved, Hank offering them all a slightly more dignified wave than Sean while Alex grins a little sheepishly, pointedly ignoring his brother’s catcalls from the front row.

The crowd continues clapping even as they take their seats along the back of the stage, Angel folding her wings down elegantly while Sean drops down into his seat in a lazy sprawl, giving another wave to the cameras that are still flashing wildly.  As Hank and Alex take their seats as well, the crowd settles a little, still murmuring loudly, and this time Kitty can practically feel the anticipation in the air.  More ambassadors and other dignitaries are trickling in, and Kitty thinks it’s like the red carpet for politics.

It’s pretty amazing, Kitty thinks idly as she takes a few moments to scan around the crowd.  There seems to be a pretty even mix of mutants and humans here today, all packed together on Genosha’s lone mountaintop.  She thinks that it was a pretty fitting choice, to hold the speech up here, given that standing above them all in the middle of the square are the two men who made all of this possible.

Kitty looks at the cast iron statue.  It’s life-size, but raised up on a two-meter-tall platform so it’s easily visible even where she stands at the front of the crowd.  Magneto faces her, towards the north, one arm loose at his side while the other is raised, and his face upturned, as if he’s holding an entire slew of missiles in midair, his eyes sharp even as a statue.  Kitty thinks they did a pretty good job with him.  There’d been some controversy back when the statue had originally been commissioned on whether or not to include Magneto’s semi-famous helmet, but the First Class had strongly vetoed its presence.  Kitty is glad they’d left it off; she knows from the stories that Magneto hadn’t been wearing it anyway that day on the western cliffs.

She can’t see the second half of the statue, but she knows what it looks like on the account that she’s spent quite a lot of time staring up at it on days where the square is less crowded.  Professor X stands back-to-back with Magneto, facing the south, two fingers held up to his temple.  His eyes are closed, which Kitty thinks is somewhat relieving.  They’d gotten Magneto’s sharp gaze right, but she isn’t sure anyone would ever be able to capture Xavier’s eyes accurately—the one time she’d looked into them as a small girl, she swears there’d been lightning there and anything less, even for a statue, just wouldn’t seem authentic. 

Or maybe she’s just unsure whether she’d be able to meet his gaze again, statue or not.

Kitty’s gaze wanders back up to the stage, and just in time—with a _poof_ and a cloud of red and black smoke, Azazel teleports onto the platform with Mystique.

The applause is deafening as Azazel teleports away again and Mystique moves to greet her fellow teammates.  Mystique, Kitty thinks, is like the heart and soul of Genosha.  She is the one who, in the aftermath of Magneto and Professor X, pulled Genosha together and made them fit to face the world, setting the foundations of the country along with the rest of the First Class.  Kitty still isn’t sure of the totality of the repercussions of Onslaught’s Mandate—in some places it’s celebrated, in other places, it’s criticized, and in still other places, it’s condemned—but Kitty does know one thing for sure: it is only by the grace of Mystique and the First Class that Genosha has come as far as it has today.

Mystique takes up position behind the podium, her golden eyes scanning the crowds calmly, waiting for the applause to die down.  It does, gradually, until only the murmurings of the crowd remain as a low buzz.  Then Mystique finally opens her mouth to speak.

“Ten years ago, Charles Xavier promised me that he meant to stay in Genosha for forever.”

The entire square has gone absolutely silent.  Kitty finds that she’s even holding her breath.  Mystique’s speech today was supposed to be remarking upon Genosha’s fifth year anniversary as an officially-recognized country.  The other members of the First Class have given interviews here or there over the years about Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr (that’s where the First Class nickname had come from, after all) but for Mystique it is unprecedented—she has always politely declined all interviews regarding the two men, never given answers to the odd question thrown in here and there during press conferences, and has always kept the content of her many speeches over the years focused strictly on Genosha and Genoshan policies.

The only time she’d ever come close had been the day when the statue had been unveiled four years ago, giving one candid quote of, “Oh, they would have hated this, you know” that had circulated newsreels for months.  She’d said it laughingly, almost fond, and the world had been forced to accept that Magneto and Professor X wouldn’t have hated it _too_ much if Mystique wasn’t lobbying to have the statue taken down.

Today, it seems, is different.

Mystique holds her head up straight and proud, but Kitty can tell that she’s looking at the statue as she speaks, gaze never wavering.  “When this place was built and that statue put up, my first thought was that you’re all only proving Charles right, which is incredibly annoying.”  That draws a few laughs from the crowd, and Mystique gives a hint of a smile.  “He’d be very smug, so thank you for that.”

Kitty sneaks a glance at the rest of the First Class.  They’re all watching Mystique calmly, chuckling a little at Mystique’s jibe—apparently _they_ had known about this deviation from the norm beforehand.

“Charles and Erik are loved by many, feared by many, hated by many, and then still the rest of you probably don’t know what to think.  They are world changers and promise breakers.”  Mystique’s voice has grown soft, but it still echoes slightly across the silence in the square.  As she continues, she gains volume again, loud and unwavering.  “They were incredibly brave and incredibly foolish.  They were teachers.  They were liars.”

Kitty winces as the last word rings out across the courtyard.

“Ten years ago, Charles and Erik pushed the very boundaries of mutantkind and humankind, issued what the world has termed Onslaught’s Mandate, and changed all of our minds whether we wanted it or not.  Their arrogance far outshines any of that expressed by anyone else in the entire history of our world, and yet.  And yet.”  Mystique pauses for a breath, her eyes scanning the crowd contemplatively.  “And yet it is through that arrogance that we have all been brought together.

“We still have conflict.  There will still be wars.  But these disagreements will be the same fundamental disagreements that mankind has had for thousands of years now.  They will not be because I am blue and the Queen of England is not.  The will not be because Havok can shoot plasma from his chest and the President of the United States cannot.  And that has to count for something.

“Mutants and humans are evolving together.  There may have been a point where we would have diverged, where mutants would rise up or where humans would beat down.  We will never know.  We weren’t given a chance or a choice.  But we were given an option.  And we have chosen to take that option and build our world into something better and brighter, even with a decade come and gone.  We have taught our children acceptance.  We have become the better men, the better women.”

Mystique stops here for a moment, her eyes moving back to the statue in the middle of the square.  “Charles and Erik were idealists to the utmost extreme.  And they were my friends.  My brothers.”

Kitty finds that she is smiling as she listens.  She recalls a dark, stormy night in a mansion, when Magneto and Professor X made her feel for the first time in her life that she was not alone.

Mystique gives a smile of her own, small but fond.  “And today is not about them.  It’s about those who they set their foundations down for, those who they changed the world for.  It’s about us.”

 

X

 

Leech whistles tunelessly to himself as he pushes his broom across the sidewalk, enjoying the cool breeze that whispers softly through the empty square.  He likes it best when he’s the only one up here in Onslaught’s Square, and he’ll certainly be up here for awhile—the place had been packed to the gills earlier for Mystique’s speech, but now everyone’s gone back down the mountain to the capital for the rest of the festivities, leaving behind the standard trash and detritus that any large crowd usually does.

Mystique’s speech.  They’ll be talking about that one for the next ten years, Leech thinks.  Maybe even longer, with how she’d decided to open it, breaking her decade-long silence on Magneto and Professor X.  Or Erik and Charles.  Funny, he’d never really known their real names before today.

At any rate, Leech certainly remembers Mystique’s speech more than he remembers, say, Sunspot’s, or even Avalanche’s.

He pushes his current pile of trash into the bigger one that he’s slowly been accumulating and then pauses for a moment, standing in the shade of the statue.  He’s about halfway done, he reckons.  If he keeps up this pace, maybe he can make it back down to the city in time for the parade later.  Those were always fun to watch; the mutant participants with physical mutations usually go all-out, and today being Genosha’s five-year anniversary should mean something extra exciting.

Leech looks up at the statue for a moment.  He sweeps up the place pretty regularly, grand speeches or not, so he’s spent a lot of time studying the statue.  Magneto and Professor X always struck him as pretty imposing figures.  He can still remember exactly where he’d been ten years ago when he’d heard Xavier’s voice in his head.  But the way Mystique had spoken of them, well.  He wonders what they’d really been like, alive and in person.  Now that Mystique’s finally given them all a tiny taste in her own words, Leech is curious for more.  Maybe now she’ll finally agree to an interview, or write a memoire.

Then he notices it.  It’s small, barely noticeable as it is unless you’d spent a lot of time around the statue.  Hell, he thinks, if you’d never seen the statue before you wouldn’t even notice it anyway.  But Leech’s eyes widen, and he drops his broom as he takes off running, shouting for his supervisor because they have _got to see this_ , because otherwise he’ll think he’s gone crazy.

The cast iron statue stands still and quiet in the middle of the square, two mutants raised up above the ground.  Erik Lehnsherr stands with one arm raised, frozen in the act of holding missiles at bay, standing back-to-back with Charles Xavier, who has one hand at his temple, which no doubt means that he’s using his legendary telepathy.

Their free hands, however, formerly held down at their sides, are now both extended backwards to link hands, fingers interlocked as they take on the world, and the corners of Charles Xavier’s cast iron lips now quirk upwards in a tiny, knowing smile.


End file.
